The Ripper Case
by serenademysoul
Summary: COMPLETED: From Hell/Sleepy Hollow cross. AbxIch - A constable is brought in from New York to assist Inspector Abberline with the hunting of the Ripper. They both have lives, love interests and their careers. But with the human soul, comes weakness
1. These sable streets

**DISCLAIMER.**

**I DO NOT OWN THE CHARACTERS USED HERE. FROM HELL AND IT'S SCREEN STORY ARE THE PROPERTY OF TWENTIETH CENTURY FOX. SLEEPY HOLLOW AND IT'S SCREEN STORY ARE THE PROPERTY OF PARAMOUNT PICTURES. NONE OF THE CHARACTERS ARE MY OWN AND I USE THEM ONLY FOR NON-PROFT FICTION.**

* * *

I don't know the movie _'From Hell' _like the back of my hand, so do forgive me if my knowledge is a little off. Other then that, I hope you enjoy the read.

* * *

These sable streets.

The pitch black streets were only suggested by the dim lampost lights. Despite the dark, the night was young. The winter bringing on the days early retire. Lingering in a discreet alleyway, was a coach. The horses patient. Watching, waiting.

'Enjoy th' change, ye' filthy harlot.' An aging, brutish man sneered, dropping a not-so generous handful of coins onto the cobbled road with a satisfied smirk on his face. The woman before him adjusted herself to cover her modesty, sweeping her mattered hair from her damp face. The man took a moment to savour her haste, then turned to walk away. His needs met.

The bangtail quickly forgot him, dropping to her knees and scrabbling at the dark road for her reward.

'Generous of ye',' She muttered sarcastically, tucking the few coins into the front of her worn dress. '_Twat_.'

A shadow slowly cast itself over her form, making her halt in her actions and slowly look up. Before her, was a dark-cloaked gentleman with a gentle smile.

'Hello, miss.' He offered. The woman looked at him skeptically.

'Ain't in no mood for more sods t'night.' She mumbled, though loud enough to hear as she slowly stood, dusting herself down. The gentleman shook his head, maintaining the smile.

'No, miss. I was sent for you.'

'What did I just say? Aint in the mood.' Her tone becomming irritated.

The man, Netley, shifted awkwardly. His mission was to tempt her to the coach and it was proving difficult, but it must be done no matter how uncomfortable he was with it. For his gentleman's wishes. There was a pause, then his smile deepend.

'Do y'like grapes?'

* * *

A torpored state of emphathy. The stupor slowly succumbling to reality. Soundless, cold, weightless, and dark. That is until, the eyes fluttered open to only see the base of a bowl and the body registered how tight the chest was, aching for air.

With an almighty pull, the head was lifted from the water. Chest rising heavily as it inhaled.

'Nice of you to join us, Inspector Abberline.' Godley said with heavy sarcasm, standing beside him. 'Was starting to think I'd have to leave a note.'

Abberline grunted, unamused as he reached for the ready cloth and wiped at his sodden hair and brow. His state disturbed.

'Came to tell you that theres been another murder.' The sargeant said promptly. The Inspector before him slowly lowering the now-damp cloth from his brow.

'_Th' Ripper_?'

'Hit the nail on the head,' Godley nodded, producing a thick pile of paper work and placing it down infront of Abberline, beside the bowl. 'The Governors reckon you need a little assistance.'

Abberline sank into the chair behind him, ignoring the paperwork. 'And what kind of assistance d'they 'ave in mind then?'

'They're having someone brought over from New York, reckon he's what you need.' The man stepped forward, glancing away. 'Apparently he managed to solve a murder case in some village in Westchester County.'

'That right?' Abberline replied bluntly, somewhat uninterested as he leaned forward to flick through the pile of paper. Notes of how things were not progressing, how people were still dying, and how the Ripper was still at large. The next page, details on the person they were having brought over. His occupation, position. He let the paper fall from his fingers, releasing an aggrivated sigh as he leaned back in the chair.

'Just what we need. Another fuckin', head up 'is own arse constable.' He muttered, glaring up at the ceiling.

'Ah, let's not be quick to judge, Inspector.' Godley suggested, beginning to near out of the doorway and let him alone. 'He may be just what you need.'

* * *

**This fic is for Randi.**


	2. A precarious meeting

Crisp leaves blew in the updraft, scattering upon the New York road. The streets were bustled, strewn with the people going about their everyday activities. The morning was coming to an end, noon just around the corner. The Municipal Watch House stayed ever-present at the side of the street, a carriage being readied outside its doors.

'Ready to go, constable?' The couchman called, positioning himself ready at the front of the carriage and grasping at the horses reins. The door to said carriage was ajar, waiting for its occupant, who was standing just beside and facing the two he was departing. He did not answer the coachman.

'Can't I come with you?' Young Masbeth asked weakly, standing beside Katrina and looking up to his master. This was not a new question, having asked and asked and been answered several times with the same answer. Though he still clung to the hope that he could pry a new answer even now. The constable looked down at his ward, about to deliver that very answer before the blonde haired beauty intervened.

'London is not a safe place for a young boy right now,' She spoke, it had been Ichabod's precise answer every time. 'Your wellbeing must come first, Young Masbeth.'

'Precisely.' Ichabod agreed, reaching his hand forward and lightly patting the boy's shoulder. Glancing to Katrina as he did so. 'You are _both_ safer here.'

The lady glanced back bluntly, knowing full well he was recalling the amount of times _she_ had inquired to come too. Though she did not agree with his decision to go alone, she did not show it. 'If you say.'

'Come now, please do not be that way.' Ichabod's hand left Masbeth's shoulder and fell to his side, stepping infront of Katrina. 'If I am to be summonded to London to assist in the trapping of a murderer, at least I can have the knowledge that you are safe here in New York.'

Katrina cast her glance down, nipping at her lower lip as she reached her hands forward and grasped the constable's arms. 'Our wedding .. '

Her elbows were lightly held in return, glancing back up as she felt his stare on her.

' .. Will take place the _moment_ I return.' He finished, a faint smile on his lips as he spoke quickly. Then his tone softened, 'We _shall _be married, Katrina. I promise.'

With that, her own smile appeared, nodding gratefully. She leant upward, tilting her head to offer him a quick, soft kiss.

'Goodbye,' She eased away afterward, maintaining the faint smile as she backed beside Masbeth and placed her slender arm around his shoulders. The young boy waved as Ichabod offered them a goodbye grin before climbing into the carriage, easing the door closed behind.

* * *

'What'll it be?'

'I don't want y'to buy me nothing.' The flame haired Mary Kelly replied, looking at Abberline from across the pub table. She leaned forward slightly, elbows rested on the surface. 'I want y'to tell me whatever you brought me here to say.'

The Inspector let his look linger on Mary for just a moment, then sideward glancing to the waitress beside the table. 'Be 'avin a Brunswick stew for the lady. Ta'.'

'Right away, sir.' She replied, rushing off and leaving them. Mary did not take her eyes off him once, she did not even blink. One confident they had some form of privacy, Abberline leant forward himself slightly. His face not far from Mary's.

'They're bringin' someone new into the Ripper case.' He said at last. Mary finally blinked, but in surprise.

'What? _Who_?' She replied.

'Don't know 'im. 'E's meant to be makin' 'is appearance t'day.' He said back, then released a disgruntled sigh. 'Bollocks. I'm meant t'be over there now with Godley t'greet 'im. Slipped me mind.'

'Well it'll have to wait a minute,' Mary said quickly before he could excuse himself, grasping his wrist tightly in her hand so he would not be tempted to leave yet either. 'What does that mean?'

'It means ... ' Abberline glared down at his wrist in Mary's grasp, but did nothing to remove her. He glanced back up. 'It means they don' fink I can 'andle the case meself. And I don' fink this constable fella is gonna listen t' 'alf the things that come out of my mouth. They're all th' same, Mary.'

He shook his head, solumn as Mary loosened her grip on his wrist. 'I want you an' yer friends to stay well aside. Another whore was murdered last week .. '

The grip suddenly became painfully tight, making the Inspector wince as Mary frowned at him. 'Another .. _woman_, was murdered last week.' He corrected, Mary then completely letting go and folding her arms under her chest. The Inspector rubbed at his wrist as he continued, ' .. And I don't want t'have to be gettin' ye back 'ere this time _next_ week t'tell you I've identified one of y'mates bodies.'

Mary lowered her head, registering it all then slowly nodding her head. 'But, we're hardly makin' enough money to feed our mouths. The only way we're going to be able to stay off the streets is t'get a room at an Inn, and we don't have the money for that.'

Abberline was prepared for that answer, raising his other hand from underneith the table to reveal a smallish, tied pouch. He dropped it on the table, in front of Mary.

'There's enough in there t'keep you girls off th'streets for a couple of nights.' He rose up from his seat, smiling discreetly down at the flattered Mary. 'And it'll pay for y'stew thats comin' over too.'

Before she could rebel or even thank him, he turned and quickly exited. Mary stared after him, not quite sure what she would have said even if he had stayed. She was alone when her stew arrived. Piping hot.

* * *

'Welcome, Constable Crane.' Godley offered warmly, shaking hands heartily with the man. 'Heard alot of things about you, sir.'

'I pray they were positive, Sargeant.' Ichabod replied, releasing his hand from Godley's rough shake and letting it fall to his sides. 'I understand I was supposed to meet with an Inspector of some sort ... ?'

The sargeant had hoped he would be able to buy Abberline a little time to return from whatever he was doing. But that plan had quickly burnt to cinders, 'The Inspector, he's .. uhm, he's .. '

'E's right 'ere.' Abberline stepped through the darkened doorway, surrounded by foggish smoke as he sucked away at his cigarette. Godley and Ichabod turned, the sargeant instantly looking aggrivated.

'I trust you have a good reason as to why you're late, Abberline?' Godley inquired forcefully, though polite.

'Not really, Godley.' He replied casually, dropping his cigarette to the floor and crushing down onto it with the tip of his boot. He glared at the floor for a moment, then looked up to the sallow-skinned constable who was looking back at him with a next to nothing facial expression, hands behind his back. Nobody introduced themselves, nobody spoke. All that was heard, were the faint sounds of breathing.

'Constable, this is Inspector Frederick Abberline.' Godley finally decided to take it upon himself to aquaint the two, taking a step back between the two so they could face each other. 'Abberline, this is Constable Crane.'

The silence between the stubborn two maintained, until Ichabod raised his hand to offer a shake. 'Pleased to meet you, Inspector.'

Abberline simply glared at his pale hand, looking at Godley who was giving him a stern glare. Reluctantly, he extended his own hand. Accepting the hand and faintly raising it up and down in a shake. 'Ello, constable.'

* * *


	3. Polly Nicholls

'I hope you 'ave a strong stomach,' The Inspector tweaked his bowler hat as he walked, walking beside the constable with Godley behind. 'In fact, be odd if you d'int. Yer paperwork says you've performed autopsies.'

Ichabod had noticed they were entering a morgue, eyeing the pale, still bodies covered from the ankles up with white sheets and being mopped at with crimson clothes. He looked down at the floor, 'I was told her throat was cut.'

Abberline shook his head slightly as the three approached the table, reaching his hand up and hovering it just above the sheet, 'That's not all, constable.'

Without a moments hesitation, the sheet was pulled back to reveal the woman's corpse. Her dark green dress carefully cut on earlier examination. The display underneith offensive, gruesome. Godley looked up at the ceiling with a wince as the Inspector looked to the constable to observe his reaction. The man's mouth was hanging ajar and his eyes were flaring wide, breathing laboured. Ichabod only stared for a moment, then turning away and covering his mouth. Abberline was just waiting for him to retch and get it done quickly so they could proceed, but he was taken by surprise. The constable's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. He had fainted.

Abberline glanced down at him, then looked to the silent Godley with an impatient glare.

'Y'were saying 'e was just what I needed, Godley?'

* * *

_'Ichabod ... Ichabod ...'_

_The melodious voice beckoned the child to the meadow, cherry blossoms fluttering down. A beautiful young maiden stood beneath a blossoming tree, smiling as her wandering child approached. She reached down, cupper his face in her hands and planting a small kiss on the boy's cheek. He smiled sweetly back to her, pleased at his mother's presence. His glance soon wandered to behind her, his smile fading as a dark figure stepped behind her. She was oblivious and the child helpless. A dark, cruel smile upon his own face._

* * *

Ichabod would have gasped out loud on regaining conciousness, had the water not muffled it. He swung his head up out of the bowl sharply, panting deeply as he looked wildly around the room. All he saw, was the Inspector stood beside him, offering him an off-white cloth.

'Works a treat when yer out of it.' He muttered, not waiting for him to take it and just tossing it at him. 'Are ye' done now?'

' .. Done with what?' Ichabod stammered, wiping at his face with the cloth.

'Wastin' bloody time.' Abberline snapped, rolling his eyes at him. 'Godley got bored of waitin' for ye, so he dunked yer 'ead in a bowl and fucked off.'

He narrowed up to the constable, who had now lowered the cloth and started glaring at the Inspector with folded arms. 'Answer me one 'fing.'

'What, Inspector?'

'Are you really th' constable who sorted tha' decapitation case in Sleepy 'ollow?' He asked sternly. 'Who performed an autopsy on a pregn'nt widow? Who nailed a conspiracy? Who got a sword through 'is chest and di'nt die?'

Ichabod furrowed his brow at him, 'None other.' He said at last.

'Well then,' Abberline took the cloth from his hands and tossed it behind his shoulder, 'We'll go find Godley, an' go back t' the morgue.' A beat, 'An' try to keep yer 'ead off the floor this time.'

Picking up his hat, the Inspector placed it upon his head and signalled for the constable to follow him out the room.

* * *

'Her name?' Ichabod asked reluctantly to no-one in particular, still refusing to look at the body as he shut his eyes tight and turned his head slightly away.

'Polly Nicholls, constable.' Godley responded immediatly, stood behind the reluctant man. 'A bangtail.'

Ichabod quickly opened his eyes, frowning at the sargeant, 'A what?'

Inspector Abberline stood on the opposite end of the table, hands behind his back and giving a single roll of the eyes, 'A whore.'

'So she was a prostitue.' The constable added. 'Could her murderer have been her client?'

'That's one possibilty,' Godley said, 'Though there was no evidence to suggest there was sexual activity.'

A discreet, low chuckle from the other end of the table made the constable and sargeant turn their heads in yonder direction. 'Something funny, Inspector?' Godley asked, unamused himself.

'How could you poss'bly tell, if ye' dont mind me askin', sargeant?' The man piped from the other end of the table, 'I find it funny tha' someone could say that when the evidence 'as clearly been sliced 'n diced.'

'As I was saying, Constable Crane .. ' Godley continued, casting his frown from Abberline to Ichabod. 'Polly Nicholls.' He confirmed.

'A prostitute cannot have much alliance,' The constable said, more to himself then anyone. He then looked Godley in the face. 'How were you able to identify her, sir?'

A discreet glance was cast the Inspector's way from the sargeant, debating whether to mention where the information had come from. 'Internal sources, constable.'  
Though, Ichabod had been staring at the man intently and followed his glance. He turned, raising his eyebrows at Abberline, 'Internal sources, Inspector?'

The man remained silent, stubbornly refusing to reveal information to this stranger. It awakened the constable to how stubborn, and difficult, this man was going to be to work with. Another job that came with the job, trust worthy colleagues. 'I should like to speak with your internal source, Inspector.' Ichabod said finally.

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because y'cant.'

'Fer christsakes, Inspector!' Godley snapped, glaring between them both. Abberline did not look at the sargeant, just keeping a cool stare on the constable.

'She wont speak t'you, constable.' He replied simply.

'_She_, Inspector?'

'Mary Kelly,' Godley cut in, stepping up the them now. 'A fellow bangtail.'

'Godley!' Abberline snapped, glaring at him. Ichabod did not react beyond a slight raise of his brow and a cock of the head, looking at Abberline.

'Inspector ... ' Godley pleaded forcefully, to which the Inspector rolled his eyes and mentally smacked himself for what he was about to agree to.

'Aw'right then, Crane. Yer on.' Abberline said in a low voice, taking a step closer to him. 'But I'm tellin' you, she won't talk.'

* * *


	4. The Ten Bells

'Tell me again, Inspector,' Ichabod questioned, frowning out of the carriage window. It rattled lightly as the horse pulled it along the cobbled streets. 'Why is it this Mary Kelly is so reluctant to speak to anyone but you?'

'I'd 'ave thought she trusted me.' Abberline replied, sitting beside the constable as he clutched his bowler hat on his lap. He turned to intently look at him. 'Trust aint a fickle 'fing right now, not in the position shes in.'

'What do you mean?' He swung his head round from staring out the window, looking at the man opposite quizzically.

'Bloody 'ell.' The Inspector groaned and winced up at the carriage ceiling, agad at how little this constable had been told. He replied while still glaring up at the worn ceiling, 'The Ripper has thus far only killed unfortunates, women on th' streets.'

His glance fell down to Ichabod, 'Mary and 'er friends, they're on the streets constable.'

'The murderer has a title,' Ichabod pronounced, taking in the information. 'The Ripper?'

'Jack th' Ripper.' Abberline replied, 'For reasons you so swooned over, constable.'

Ichabod felt somewhat unsettled about this, his upper lip flinching infamously. He lifted his hand, running his hair back off his forehead. As he lowered it again to his lap, the Inspector took it upon himself to notice something. Scarring upon the man's pale palms, the permanent kind.

'So,' Abberline started. 'How is it a man like yerself happened upon those then?'

He cast a hinting glance toward his hand, then looked back up. 'Aint a rough-houser, are ye'?'

The constable froze, clenching his hands into fists rested on his lap. Bold, as well as difficult was the Inspector. He hesitated, then replied without looking at the man.

'Have I really struck you as the uproarious type, Inspector?' He inquired with obvious sarcasm, the carriage beginning to slow. Abberline pursed his lips and shook his head slightly.

'Nah,' He replied, 'Do forgive me constable, but so far you've struck me as a total prat.'

'Very genial of you.'

Ichabod glanced back at Abberlne, looking unimpressed. But as their gaze met, it held. The silence obvious, and both men's stern faces slowly falling blank. It seemed to dither on forever for no reason whatsoever, until the carriage jerked to a final stop. The Inspector stayed anchored where he was, thanks to one hand lightly gripping the door as Ichabod jerked forward, almost thrown out of his seat.

'Don't be flyin' away jus' yit, constable. We gots work to do.'

The man eased himself back into his seat with a groan, looking out of the window. The carriage had drawn upto a dark-bricked building, echos of drunken laughter seeping through the window and the sun setting just above the rooftop. The sky near red.

'Where are we, Inspector?' Ichabod asked, glancing over his shoulder at him. He had half-gotten out of the carriage but stopped at the question, turning to look himself.

'Th' Ten Bells.' Abberline replied, looking away and fully dropping himself out of the carriage, closing the door shut behind him.

* * *

'Ello Mary,' The Inspector stepped up the the waiting woman at that same table, as if she had never left. She was sitting alone as expected, crossing her hands over each other on the table top. Offering a warm smile to him.

'Hello Inspector.' Mary replied, eyes wandering to the raven haired man attempting to follow Abberline but was trying to beat off a rather clingy, drunken woman. She watched as after several failed attemps, he finally managed to shoo her off. Abberline had his back facing him, glancing up at the ceiling and pretending not to see.

'This .. ' He began to say as Ichabod approached them, 'Is Const'ble Ichabod Crane.'

'Good day, miss Kelly.' The constable greeted, offering his hand across the table. The fire haired woman calmly looked at his hand, then raised her own and accepted with a gentle shakle.

'G'day, constable.' She smiled, letting her hand fall. 'You the reason I'm 'ere?'

'Not the reason, miss. But the underlying grounds.' He replied, placing both hands behind his back and standing tall. 'I inquired you here so thaat I might ask you a few questions.'

'About what, constable?' She asked, an innocent tone to her voice.

'I do believe you know the answer to that, miss Kelly.' Ichabod replied. Mary's smile faded to a slight frown, looking him up and down, comparing him to the Inspector beside. Abberline clad in his usual musty shades of brown and warm coloured skin. The constable, compared to the others in the pub looked like he should be displayed in a shop window. With his running coat and bright white shirt, clean too. His skin looked like the shoe-shiner had been at him with a rag and shined all the colour away. A wraith man in the living world of warmer colours.

'Y'look like one of them toffs, talk like one too.' She said out of the blue. 'Are you a toff, constable?'

'A what?' He furrowed his brow, unfamiliar with the term. Abberline cut in quickly, sensing the conversation steer in the wrong direction.

'I'll go get th' drinks in,' He said loudly, turning and quickly, discreetly uttering something hush down the constable's ear, 'Best get started.' With that, the man disappeared into the crowd that was the serving bar. The two remaining stayed silent for a moment or so after he left, Ichabod finally pulling out the seat infront of him and placing himself in it. Sitting with painfully good posture as Mary slouched slightly over the table.

'Miss Kelly .. ' He started, looking over at her.

'_Mary_, if y'dont mind, constable.' She said quickly, 'Miss Kelly, aint me name.'

Ichabod offered a slow nod, '_Mary_, I should like to know of your friends, yourself, and your conflicts with a man named McQueen.'

'How did you know about us and McQueen?' Mary cut in, defensive. Then she clicked on, sideward glaring the crowded bar. 'I'll kill that Inspector.'

'First things first,' Ichabod intervened just as quick, 'Who is McQueen?'

'I ain't saying a thing.' She said, 'McQueen finds out I been gossipin' 'bout 'im to the likes o' you, it'll be me 'ead on the chopper.'

'Mary,' The constable said, firmness in his voice. 'Do you believe McQueen could be the one who has been murdering unfortunates?'

The woman paused, glancing down as if guiltily, 'I got an inklin','

'Then, please co-operate.' He said back, 'Should it turn out to be this McQueen, the appropriate action can be taken. He shall not bother you if he cannot get to you.'

Mary glanced back up, eyes wide as her heart hammered inside her chest. The thought of never having to worry about the Nicholl's boys was somewhat overwhelming. 'Y'promise? If it's McQueen, you'll put 'im away?'

'I can imagine him getting worse, should he be guilty of the Ripper crimes, miss.' He replied. Mary thought, it seemed so selfish to decide this alone but it seemed unselfish at the same time for the wellbeing of her and her friends. What else could be said?

'Awright .. I'll talk.' She said quietly, 'But not for long. I got to be goin' soon.'

'Who is McQueen?' Ichabod repeated, concentrated look on his face.

'E's the leader of the Nicholls street gang,' She answered. 'They're after our blood.'

'Why?'

'They want a pound a week, from each of us. We can't afford it so we dodge them.' Mary replied.

'You avoid them?'

'What else can we do? We're hardly earnin' enough as it is to feed ourselves!'

'I see.' Ichabod muttered, glancing down at his lap. 'Can you think of anything else that has happened that is not part your .. routine, Mary?'

Mary nipped at her lip, looking worried now. 'Actually, yes. Besides the killin's and the Nicholls.'

A pause, the constable raising his eyebrows waiting for her to continue. 'I 'ave this other friend .. who ain't an unfortunate. She's a married mother.' She started, 'Ann Crook.'

Another pause.

'Her and her husband got bundled into a carriage a few days ago and no-one's seen them since.'

'Bundled?' Ichabod inquired, frowning. 'They were being unwillingly taken?'

'Yes, looked tha' way.'

'You were there?'

'I was,' Mary nodded once, 'Was hidin', with another of me' friends and Ann's daughter.'

'Well, where is this daughter? Perhaps I might speak to her too.' Ichabod suggested, to which Mary heartily chuckled. 'What is funny?'

'Good luck tryin' to get two words out of 'er, constable.' Her chuckle ended with a sigh, 'Our Kate's been cooing to her for days and she ain't had much luck.'

'Is she too distressed to talk?' He asked, serious. Mary shook her head, smiling.

'She's just a baby, constable.' She said softly, 'Not even sittin' up yet.'

Ichabod sighed lowly to himself, feeling somewhat foolish at himself but deciding to continue, 'And who is this Kate you mentioned?'

'Catherine Eddowes, sir. But she's just Kate to us.' She said, 'Like a mother to us all, she is.'

A burly man approached Mary from behind, resting a large, thick hand on her slender shoulder and whispering close to her face. 'Aye, love? Y'workin'?'

Mary's fingers twitched to raise up her hand and flip him off, annoying that men automatically assumed she was a prostitute, despite the fact she was. 'No, I aint.'

'Awe c'mon. Got the ol' fella good and stiff for ye' already.' He laughed, standing straight and looking down at the constable. 'Or do I 'ave to wait for skinny boy 'ere to finish wiv' you?'

Ichabod frowned up at him, somewhat annoyed that his interview was being disrupted. He stood, glaring at the brute. 'Sir, this is hardly appropriate. Unhand her.'

'Constable, its alright. E's just another stupid drunk is all.' Mary said, attempting to shrug her shoulder from beneath the man's tightening grasp. His face starting to twist with rage.

'Stupid drunk? _Stupid drunk?!_' He roared, pushing her shoulder so hard she was thrown from her chair. He stamped over to her, towering over her frame as he snarled. 'Listen 'ere y'bloody whore! I'm _offerin_' t'pay for yer services and I'll bloody get 'em!'

Mary's mouth fell open at the looming brute as Ichabod went to reach for the club in his belt. Though his fingers froze on hearing a voice just behind.

'Oi,' Abberline said, readily aiming his gun at the drunken man towering over Mary. 'Piss off, aye?'

'An' who the 'ell are you?' The brute barked, Mary looking to his pleadingly for help.

'Someone wiv' better intentions then yours, sir.' He said, the click of the gun faintly heard. 'Now I won't tell ye again, fuck off.'

The brute grumbled, muttering terrible, terrible words under his breath and stepping over Mary. He barged out of the pub as Ichabod helped the fallen woman up.

'I owe you one, Inspector.' Mary smiled to him, receiving a coy nod in return. The constable beside her looking somewhat confused.

'My god, is it like this in _all _of London?' He gaped, so used to the well mannered people of New York. The Inspector took a slow, satisfying drag on his cigerette, pushing his pistol back into his belt.

'Clearly you ain't never been to a London drinkin' establishment, constable.' He couldn't help but smirk a little at how agad a simple pub brawl had left him. 'Survive there, survive anywhere.'

Mary discreetly nodded in agreement, reaching down to the table where the Inspector had left three mugs before dealing with the brute. Foaming over the top, a fine London ale. 'Cheers t'that.' She chimed, lifting her glass and taking a hearty swig.

* * *

The nighty sky twisted shades of purple, blue and black. A true night, not a star nor hope of one. Clouds gathering and casting a deeper shade of dark over the London streets. A carriage rattled down the pavement, the black horses trotting boldly.

'Did Mary talk t'you then?' Abberline asked, sucking away on a new cigerette.

'She did.' Ichabod said, smirking with triumph. 'She told me of the Nicholl's boys motives.'

'We already know that.' The Inspector sighed, 'I _knew_ she wouldnt tell ye' anything new.'

The smirk maintained on the constable's face, raising one eyebrow as if to mock, 'She told me of Ann Crook, a former unfortunate. Bundled away, she said.'

Abberline lowered his cigerette, raising his eyebrows also. 'Looks like theres 'ope for ye' yet, constable.' He said, then pausing to think. 'Ann Crook, married to that painter, aint she?'

Ichabod nodded, 'Clean shaven men took her, she said. Could not have been McQueen.' He said.

'What's it got to do wiv' the Ripper, though?'

'Think about it, Inspector.' Ichabod said, speaking in hush as if the world were to hear. 'Ann Crook, a former unfortunate. Now married to a rich man. And what can the rich afford?'

Abberlined frowned in thought, then uttered, 'Grapes ..'

'Right,' The constable said, 'What if she wanted the streets dusted of her former friends and the London officials caught wind of it?'

'You suggestin' Ann Crook's husband might be the Ripper?'

'It's a theory we can look into Inspector.' Ichabod said, easing back slightly.

'I think .. ' Abberline started. 'I think, we should 'ave a word with Ann Crook.'

'And do you know where she is?'

'Not me,' The Inspecotr said. 'If she ain't in the jail, or ain't on the streets, odds are she's locked up somewhere more confined.'

He took another drag on his cigerette, blowing the foggish smoke away and then turning back to the constable.

'I know this chap.' He started. 'E's a faithful to Queen Victoria 'erself, he'll show me what we need to see.'

Ichabod looked somewhat astonished at this man's ties, 'And such a man goes by the name of .. ?'

'Sir William Gull.' The Inspector answered.


	5. Curious mind

'What tha' bloody 'ell were you thinkin' Mary?!' A dark haired woman screeched, face twisted with rage. Her faded dress torn and worn.

'We might never 'ave to worry about the Nicholls boys again if 'e's found guilty.' Mary attemped to reason with Anne, 'Dark Annie' as she was more informally known. The woman sat upon the shabby-looking bed, looking up at her accusing friend. 'And keep your voice down, I only paid fer me t'be in here.'

Dark Annie scoffed, shoving her hands onto her hips, 'Y'realise by the time they arrest bloody McQueen we'll all be heads mounted on 'is wall?'

'Hush yer mouth a minute, Anne.' Kate hushed, waving her fingers at the flustered woman whilst keeping an intent gaze on Mary. 'Was it tha' Inspector you was talkin' to?'

'Would be 'im, wouldn't it?' Liz half-laughed, standing with her arms crossed and back pressed against the wall behind her. Mary paid the sneering woman no attention.

'He was there, but it wasn't 'im I was talkin' to.' She replied, looking at Kate. 'Was this constable .. '

'Lemme guess, Mary. 'E was an 'andsome chappie, wasn't 'e?' Annie cut in with a sneer, shaking her head at Mary. 'Always turn t'butter around the 'andsome ones, y'do.'

Mary cut her a discreet glare, wishing she would just hush long enough for her to get a sentence out, ' .. From New York,' She continued.

'Aye up, she's after the foreigners now!' Annie taunted.

'Annie, sha'ap!' Kate snapped, waving a single finger at her as if to warn. She looked back to Mary. 'Now, carry on Mary.'

'He said that if it was McQueen, he'd put 'im away. He promised.' She said hopefully.  
'An' what if it aint McQueen, smartarse?' Liz piped, raising her eyebrows and pouting her lips slightly at her. 'What if it weren't them that did Polly in?'

Mary swallowed, shaking her head. She had been so certain of her thoughts, but this doubtful words were beginning to break the surface, 'I don't know.'

* * *

'Inspector, I'm not sure if he will appreciate an awakening at this hour .. ' Ichabod suggested, glancing up at the vast brick home after the Inspector delivered a firm knock to the impressive sized door.

'Men like 'im never sleep, Crane.' Abberline spoke, staring into the door as he heard the faint thudsteps approch. 'Busy man, 'e is.'

The door began to ease open, revealing a grandesque room with bright chandeliers and warm coloured walls, but ultimatly unveiling a senior man in smart attire, smiling genuinly to his guests.

'Good evening, gentlemen.' He greeted, bowing his head to them, then glancing to the Inspector. 'Ah, Inspector Abberline.'

'Evenin', sir.' He replied politely, nodding sideways to indicate his peer. 'This is Constable Crane, of New York.

'A pleasure, constable.' Gull replied, extending a hand to shake with the man. Ichabod reached up his own, accepting.

'Sir Gull,' Ichabod addressed in polite greeting, releasing himself from the handshake and standing smart. Gull crossed his own hands across his stomach, looking to the men.

'We're sorry for troubling you so late, sir.' Abberline said, to which Gull waved his fingers at him to dismiss the thought.

'No a problem, Inspector. Now what might I do for you tonight?'

'We are looking for someone named Anne Crook.' Ichabod said. 'We were wondering if you had any information on her, sir?'

'Anne Crook?' The elderly man blinked as if he couldn't quite believe it, but gave a nod anyway. 'Follow me, gentlemen.'

He turned, leaving the door open as the lawmen followed him into the impressive building. Candlesticks mounted on every table and lavish paintings mounted on every wall. Ichabod couldn't help but notice how the humid colours of London contrasted with the cool shades of his New York.  
Sir Gull lead them down a corridor laiden with a lush red carpet, the corridor itself seemed to wind on like a long piece of ribbon. Finally, they reached a door, not as lavish as the others. It was a more restricted room. The man pulled out a key from his waistcoat, placing it into the keyhole and turning. The door opened with a dull click, the room black. Gull plucked a lantern from a near wallside table, and lead on.

'Anne Crook, a rather hapless woman if I were to comment.' He said, approaching a dusty table. Atop, a neatly stacked, but thick pile of papers and files. His finger trailed along the side, as if a blind man reading Braille, until he finally reached the one he was looking for. 'Ah, here we are.'

Several papers were gingerly pulled and scattered across the table, Gull rested the lantern on the table surface.

'As you can see here, gentlemen .. ' He tapped at a particular paper with itallic written words. 'The patient was mentally unstable.'

'Patient?' Ichabod furrowed his brow at the paper. 'She was admitted somewhere, sir?'

'Yes, the Royal London hospital to be precise, constable.' He replied. 'She was violent towards others and suffered from hullucinations.'

The two men made faint sounds of acknowledgment, their heads low as their eyes scanned the pages and their fingers traced along the lined words that were being read, like they could absorb the information using their fingertips. The two hands soon found their way to the same scrap of paper, the Inspector's fingers accidentally brushing the Constable's. He froze for just a moment, then quickly snatched his fingers away, continuing to scan the pages with somewhat of a fluster. Ichabod's hand then deciding to press flat against the paper and stay still.

'A lobotomy was performed.' Ichabod muttered at last.

'I am surprised you know of the procedure, constable.' Gull said. 'Are you a man of medicine perchance?'

'I am educated in medical forensic science, sir.' He replied quickly, raising his head to look at him. The elderly man nodded, impressed and glanced to Abberline.

'Perhaps you could inform Inspector Abberline of this new procedure then, constable. Unless the Inspector already knows what a lobotomy is?' Gull suggested.

'No, sir.' Abberline answered, shaking his head. Ichabod looked to Abberline.

'Certainly.' He said, 'A lobotomy is a surgical procedure in which nerve pathways in a lobe or lobes of the brain are severed. It is used on mental patients with irratic behaviour patterns.'

Gull began to clap, 'I am impressed. May one of New York's finest be standing in this very room?'

'Not exactly what those at the municiple watch-house have branded me, sir.' Ichabod said, though a mutter as if no-one were to hear. Nevertheless, it was certainly heard. Gull offering a coy nod back.

'Where is Anne now?' Abberline asked suddenly, stepping out from behind the table.

'Bethlem, sir.' The man replied.

'Bethlam?' Ichabod inquired.

'Lunatic 'ouse.' The Inspector said back.

'Bethlam is a psychiatric hospital, constable. Anne is there.' Gull corrected with a smile.

'Thank you, sir. You've been a great 'elp, as always.' Abberline thanked, turning to walk out of the room. 'Come on, Crane.'

Gull stepped forward quickly, 'Oh, Inspector! Constable!'

Abberline turned, Ichabod doing the same. Gull reached into his waistcoat, and produced a scroll of brilliant white paper tied around with a crimson ribbon.

'The Queen, she is holding a grand ball in her palace in Buckingham to celebrate our recent breakthrough in medical forensics.' He explained, holding out the scroll to Abberline. 'I am unable to attend. I should hope you go in my place, and take this fine fellow with you.'

'No, sir. I couldn't .. '

'I beg you.' He thrusted it at Abberline. 'Please, go in my place.'

The Inspector stared down at the scroll in the man's shaking hand. He reached up, and slowly, reluctantly took the scroll.

'Thank you.' Gull smiled, bowing slightly to them. 'And you will attend?'

'I will.' Abberline said rather quietly, as if he were being forced to say it. Gull looked to Ichabod.

'Constable?'

Ichabod blinked, stuck for what to say. A grand ball amoungst all this seemed so out of place. But then again, he would surely be the envy of his colleagues back in New York if they were to learn he had been to Buckingham Palace, mingled with Queen Victoria's peers and finest men. 'I will go.' He answered at last.

* * *

Darkness. The room was musty with the smell of faded ash. At the table, sat a worried Netley. Eyes bleared and hands clasped upon the table, looking unbalanced. At the window, stood a looming figure in a raven cloak. Looking out to the London streets from behind the blackened gauze curtains.

'Netley .. ' He breathed, voice raspy and breathless.

'Yessir?' He stammered an answer, looking to his master.

'I shall need for you to do something for me.' He said, back to the man. Netley swallowed, fearing the worst.

'What is that, sir?'

'There is to be a ball, held by her highness, Queen Victoria.' He said, pausing for a moment. 'I shall need for you to go there.'

'Me? In Buckin'ham palace, sir?' Netley questioned.

'Yes,' The figure breathed, 'There is someone there that is becoming involved with the so-called 'case'. A smart man, certainly.'

'And, sir?'

'He is a constable from New York. He shall be attending with one Inspector Abberline.'

'What is it you want me to do wiv' 'im?' Netley asked.

'That man has a curious mind, and such a thing does not belong in my legacy.' He rasped, turning to face the man at the table. 'Netley, I want you to attend the ball, and kill him.'


	6. Truth

'_You_, at a ball?' Godley scoffed, rolling up a pre-cigerette. 'Didn't think you the type'

The Inspector leant on the table opposite, sucking on his own cigerette. 'Yea', well. Promise is a promise.'

'Did Sir Gull happen to let you know why he couldn't go to this _soiree_?' He asked casually in a passive tone, bringing the finished cigarette to his mouth. Abberline shook his head, eyebrows slanted.

'Nah'.' He answered, shaking of the head slowing. 'I put it down to 'is stroke an' all.'

'And your taking Constable Crane?'

'Sir Gull's request, sargeant.' Abberline answered, looking at the seated man. 'Besides, no way in 'ell would I go to one of those 'fings alone.'

Godley nodded slowly, 'Still think he's a prat then?'

'Biggest prat of 'em all, sargeant.' The Inspector gave a small shrug, his mouth then teasing a smirk as he brought the cigarette to his lips. 'He's a clever prat though.'

'Why the dark smile, Inspector?'

'He jus' wasn't what I was expectin'.' Abberline said, truthfully. 'Smarmy git o'course, but I was walkin' wiv' 'im through the market once and this crawlin' spider crossed our path. You'll never guess what 'e did.'

'What?'

'Jumped out of 'is skin, that's what.' He let out a coy chuckle. 'Funniest thing I'd seen in years.'

Godley shook his head, smirking. 'Fabulous, Inspector. But where is he now?'

The Inspector paused, thinking. 'Y'know what, I don't know.'

'You lost him.' The sargeant sighed, rolling his eyes.

'Aye, 'e's a big boy these days, sergeant.' He retorted, raising up from his lean on the table. 'I'll go find 'im then.'

* * *

Ichabod was, actually, only two doors down. In a more quiescent room of the police station, he sat at a desk. Ink well and pricked feather before him, his hand grasping his writing utensil and eyes frowning down at the paper in concentration as he wrote. There was a knock at the door, making him turn in alarm, his arm knocking the ink well and black ink seeping into his paper.

'Ello?' Abberline entered, poking his head through the ajar door and seeing the groaning constable. He frowned, nearing and having a glance over his shoulder. An inky mess.

'Sorry 'bout that, constable.' He said, drawing up a chair on the other side of the table as Ichabod leaned back his head and groaned. His letter ruined.

'What was you writin'?' Abberline asked.

'A letter.'

'Yea', I can see that.' He smirked, 'I meant who was you writin' _to_?'

Ichabod sighed, looking down at the messed letter. 'My fiance. She asked I write to her.'

The Inspector paused, raising his brow. It hadn't struck him that this squeamish man had probably managed to score a woman somehow. 'Oh? When ye' getting' married?'

'When I return to New York. Though, our original plans would have lead to us being married a few days ago.' He shrugged glumly. 'But, I was here.'

'Oh,' The Inspector muttered, lowering his head as memories of his Victoria faded into his mind. He hid his pained face, but couldn't help but muster another question, 'You got children?'

Ichabod shook his head, 'No true children, Inspector. Though, I do ward an orphaned boy. I would like to think I have built a relationship with him.'

Abberline nodded, leaning his elbows on the table and studying the constable's actions. The man was gingerly peeling his sodden paper from the table top and wincing at the sight of ink on his fingers. The Inspector cocked his head slightly, wondering out loud. 'Were you really impaled?'

'What?' Ichabod said, looking up to Abberline while still holding the soppy paper between two fingers.

'Impaled. Run through.' The Inspector said, looking serious. 'Your file included some of your medical records. We 'ad a note by a Dr. Lancaster sayin' that you'd received a deepish laceration in yer chest.' He paused. 'Yet you hardly bled, and the wound was already healin' by the time they found you.'

Ichabod stared back at him, somewhat taken to hear this all being told to his face. 'And .. you don't believe it?'

'It's a little farfetched, if y'dont mind me sayin' so.' Abberline replied. 'I mean, your fussin' over ink for Christ's sake.'

With that word, Ichabod lowered the paper, dripping black liquid onto the table surface. He stared at the doubtful Inspector, remembering that night too well. Witnessing a creature from Hell first thrash a man in two as well as being impaled himself. He did not recall being found, nor taken back to the Van Tassel's quarters. All he remembered after that was waking with a start, seeing Dr. Lancaster and Katrina's father looming over him. He reached up, loosening the cravat around his neck slightly and undo-ing a single button on his waist jacket. Parting it and the shirt underneath with a gentle push of his fingers, revealing a small portion of his chest. Just below the collarbone, a faded scar.

Ichabod waited, before speaking. 'I assure you. The file did not lie.'

'Bloody 'ell.' Abberline said quietly, eyes looking up from the scar to his face. The constable lowered his glance, beginning to do up the button and firm the knot of his cravat again. 'And I suppose I'm g'na have to start believin' you do autopsies too?' The Inspector added.

The man let out a hearty chuckle under his breath, meaning it all in light humour. Ichabod finished what he was doing, placing his hands down on the table and offering a small, genuine smile.


	7. My intuitions

The den was warm, relaxed with numerous people calmly strolling, mostly young Asians seeing to their customers. Toward a more discreet corner and lay upon a long couch was the Inspector, inhaling from a long pipe and slowly collapsing as he succumbed to stupor. Staring up at the ceiling in a daze.

* * *

White. Beautifully bright sky. Waves gently breaking upon the bank, atop a hill covered in the freshest looking grass was a neat cottage. Comfortable and homely. Outside the cottage, was a comely woman with thick auburn locks, the colour of wild fire. Mary. She wore a pure white dress and a shawl draped around her shoulders as she smiled ahead, her blue eyes catching the sky's light.

'Come here darlin' .. come here darlin' .. ' Her gentle voice echoed, though her mouth did not speak the words. She simply kept smiling sweetly ahead. 'Come here darlin' ... '

* * *

'Get up.'

Abberline furrowed his brow slightly in a stir, attempting to cling on to the gentle vision. So different to those he had been seeing lately, of slaughter and ill-spilt blood. Godley loomed over him, rolling his eyes then bending down to him, seizing one of his arms and hanging it round his shoulders.

'Fer christs sake, Abberline.' He groaned, other hand around him, keeping his vaguely limp body upright. 'You couldn't have picked a worse bloody time!'

'Eh .. ? Why .. ' The Inspector groaned lazily, weakly stumbling along as Godley led him out of the den.

'Your off out to Buckingham bloody palace tonight!' He snapped. 'You think Queen Victoria wants to see you all dazed out after a session of dragon chasing?'

'I'll be awright .. by then .. '

'Too right you will be.' Godley muttered. 'After a little bowl and water treatment.'


	8. The Ball

'Awright Fred, keep yer head up t'night.' The Inspector mumbled to himself, looking into his reflection in the mirror. His attire was slightly more formal than usual, opting for a deep textured dark suit and a black cravat tied around his neck. A comb had even been run through his brown hair too. He simply looked at himself, shaking his head. 'Fuck, I need a cigerette.'

The man turned to the fireplace behind him, gingerly picking up a half-rolled up cigerette from it's surface. The contents of it were not only that of the average cigerette, but a dose of his personal fix. Opium, liquid courage. Abberline folded the last of it over and turned around, glancing down to meet the somewhat disapproving glare of his pitbull dog, lounging in the seat.

'What?' He questioned as if the dog were going to reply, he even waited. The dog merely lowered his head, looking up bashfully at his master. Frederick simply raised his eyebrows at his dog, as if he had won some war of epic proportions, before slumping into the chair behind and taking a deep, long drag. Opium laced smoke quickly filling the room, clouding it like water off steam.

There was a knock at the door, catching Abberline off guard and making him drop his much-needed fix. He groaned, quickly crushing it into the floor with the tip of his newly polished boots and making his way to the door.

'Hello, Inspector.' Ichabod greeted, nodding his head slightly to the man as he carefully opened the door with a glare. The glare maintained as he studied the constable. His own choice of clothing not that much different from what he usually donned, though the dark colour and textures in his clothing looking much richer and his boots all shined. In one hand, he carried a sachel. Abberline glanced up to the constable's waiting face, opening the door fully and the glare fading.

'Ello, constable. What brings you 'ere?' He said politely.

'I thought perhaps you would like a lift to the palace, seeing as I have seen no coachmen in the area.' Ichabod indicated the waiting carriage just before the Inspector's home, horses waiting. With that thought, he furrowed his brow at the Inspector. 'Did you even .. arrange .. transportation for yourself?'

Abberline said nothing at first, thinking of earlier that day. Godley having to find him in the Chinese 'hole', as he called it, and having to tear him out of there. No, he had not arranged to be taken to the Queen's palace. He was occupied, having visions of cottages .. the countryside .. Mary ..

'Slipped me' mind. I'd have managed some'ow.' Frederick replied simply, then paused for thought. 'But, a lift would be great.'

Ichabod accepted his answer with a simply nod, about to turn when his chest suddenly tightened, making him cough heavily. He raised his fist, pounding his chest lightly.

'You awright there, Crane?' Abberline asked, then froze as he realised. The room behind having been filled with drug laden smoke, escaping out of the door and into the Constable's lungs. A non-addict un-used to the fumes.

'I'm fine .. ' He choked, then standing straight and giving his chest a final pound. His face winced slightly, looking to the Inspector questionably then glaring past him into the house. ' Is your house on fire, Abberline?'

'No,' The Inspector said quickly, stepping forward and closing the door shut behind him. Eager to divert the man's attention away from the fumes in yonder direction. 'Come on then, let's be off.'

* * *

The pale shaded palace lit luminous tonight, not just because of the rows of windows dispursing bright lights from the inside activity but the moonlight casting its glow upon the vast building. Men of high wealth and power gracefully stepped in either aloof and alone or with a member of the fairer sex on their arm. The constable and Inspector hesitated outside, the only two people there occompanied by a colleague. They breathed heavy, the cold air misting their breath as their eyes studied the beautiful building.

'More than anything I wish I wasn't here.' Ichabod said out of the blue, still looking at the building. The man was not a man of social gatherings and it showed. Abberline stood beside and glanced at him.

'You best be gettin' used to it, constable. Large crowds of people y'dont know. Because weddin's are full o' them.' He replied, muttering it slightly.

'I take it you have been to a wedding then?'

The Inspector shifted uncomfortably, shuffling from foot to foot. Dying for that cigerette. Weddings, such a delicate subject. He recalled his darling, beautiful Victoria. Her image gathered in his mind, a woman with satin pale skin and ringletted hair the colour of bronzed gold. She smiled to him, her pleasant eyes not blinking once as she slowly turned her back to him and faded to black. 'Yes, I 'ave.'

Ichabod eyed him, a question on his lips that he dare not speak. Nor would he get the chance to, as a formally clad gentleman approached them promptly. Having noticed the two men standing outside.

'Excuse me, sirs. Might I see your invitation?' He asked politely, his hand accepted the roll of paper as the Inspector handed it to him. Rolling it out before him, he read with a frown. 'This invitation is for one Sir William Gull.'

'I am Inspector Frederick Abberline and this is Constable Ichabod Crane of New York, Sir Gull requested we attend in 'is absense.' Abberline addressed firmly.

The gentleman looked up from the scroll, looking somewhat questionable, 'Do pardon my asking sirs, but might I be able to see some identification?'

'Certainly,' The Inspector drew his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and searched for the scroll document of his employment with the London services, recalling earlier that day when he reminded himself to bring said information incase this question was asking. His fingers brushed against the inside of his pocket, feeling nothing but the material. No document, which made his heart suddenly thump quickly. He had forgotten it.

'Is there a problem, sir?' The man remained polite but was becoming weary and that bit more suspicious of these mens identifications. Abberline removed his hand from his pocket, lost for words. It seemed impossible to have forgotten such an important piece of information, then it came to him. His opium induced state made his mind draw a blank and the reminder slipped his memory. His mouth opened to say something, though he was no quite sure what would come out.

'Allow me, Inspector.' Ichabod cut in, dropping his sachel and kneeling before it. With a click, it opened and he quickly rummaged inside, taking out a handful of papers and handing them to the gentleman.

'My home address, my certificate of birth, my document of municiple employment signed by the Burgomeister of New York City.' The constable stated as the man scanned the papers, 'And you will also find a note from one Sargeant Peter Godley stating his partnership with one Inspector Frederick Abberline, the man standing beside me.'

The gentleman flicked through the papers, reading this and that before nodding once and offering the papers back to the constable. 'Right then, constable. Sorry for bothering you.' He looked Abberline and offered a polite nod, 'Inspector'  
Then, he walked away.

Ichabod calmly and silently knelt before his sachel, tucking the document papers back inside and Abberline stood, stunned. He looked down at the constable and furrowed his brow, 'How the 'ell did ye get Godley to sign that?'

'He did not take any persuasion, the sargeant was quite willing to vouch for a potential slip of the memory.' Ichabod replied, standing to his feet.

'And y' brought all that information to Buckingham Palace?' Abberline asked, a little softer toned.

A pause, 'I wanted to be well prepared.'

The Inspector coyly nodded in accepting the answer, glancing down feeling slightly awkward. He thought perhaps he should offer an explanation, for surely a rational man of the law would not forget a document of identification. But that was not what escaped his lips. He looked back to the constable. 'Y'got me out of what could 'ave been alot of shit. Thank you.'

Ichabod offered a small smile at his gratitude, taking a step forward toward the palace. 'Just try to remember next time, alright'  
He turned to continue walking toward the brightly lit building, the Inspector following with his head hung low.

* * *

Inside the palace was a beautifully illuminated room with a floor like polished glass and chandeliers hanging in rows along the ceiling. Violinists played in a group at the front of the room, couples clad in gowns and suits dancing gracefully with each other along to it in the more central part of the ballroom. Balconies of people spectating and chatting with drinks in their hands were placed upon the more upper level of the room's walls. It was a sight to be had.

'I can't 'elp but wonder what Gull would 'ave done if 'e was 'ere.' The Inspector joked quietly to the constable. The two feeling like outcasts in this room of society sweethearts and people of high wealth and power.

'Indeed.' Ichabod quietly replied.

Beyond the crowd of dancing guests, stood a slightly trembling man in a thick black robe. It was Netley, donning a robe kindly borrowed to him by his master. Tonight, he had one aim and one aim only, to fullfill what had been asked of him. He was cleverly disguised, hair combed and clean-shaven with a hat that shadowed the majority of his face. In his upright hand, he had a silver tray with two tall glasses upon it filled with wine. One the regular glass, and one poisoned.

'Here it goes,' Netley uttered to himself, stepping through the crowd and toward the two law men. As he neared, he straightened his posture and ceased his trembling as best he could. Lowering his head slightly to hide his face.

'Pardon me, sirs .. ' He started, attempting to hide as much of his thick accent as possible. 'Wine?'

'God yes,' The Inspector took no haste in taking the glass before him in his hand and taking himself a healthy gulp. He sighed with refreshment, lowering his glass to notice Ichabod had yet to even take his. 'Something wrong, Crane?'

'No, I just don't really drink .. '

'One drink ain't going t' kill you.'

Ichabod rolled his eyes, but decided to submit. His fingers reached forward and grasped the glass, Netley watching him carefully, as he raised the tall glass to his lips and tipped the crimson red liquid into his mouth. Its taste was overwhelming, slightly metallic. It ran thick down his throat, the strong yet sharp taste making him wince like he had eaten something disgusting. He then offered the glass back to the disguised Netley.

'Thank you, but it's really not something I would drink and enjoy.' Ichabod said as Netley took the half full glass graciously from him, placing it onto his tray.

'As you wish, sir.' He said, turning away with that word and hastily disappiering into the crowd of dancing people. The Inspector looked to Ichabod, shaking his head.

'Not something you'd drink an' enjoy?' He smirked as he quoted him, like he were about to break into laughter.

'I told you that I'm not really one to participate in the consumption of alcoholic beverages.'

'What y'mean to say is, your not really one to go and 'ave a pint.' Abberline said, still smirking. 'Y'dont have to talk like your still at work, Crane.'

Ichabod blinked, genuinely surprised. 'What is wrong with how I talk?'

The Inspector shook his head once again, reaching into his suit pocket and pulling out a packet of thick cigars. He offered one to Ichabod, which he declined with a dismissive wave of the fingers.

'And y' dont smoke?' Abberline said, astonished as he took one out for himself and whipped a match against the rough back of the box. Bringing it to his cigar, the tip and the flame met.

'I've never tried it, and I never intend to.'

The Inspector drew the cigar from his mouth, breathing out a breath of whispy smoke. 'To each his own then.'

* * *

The two men had found themselves being beckoned over to a group of high risen gentlemen, each puffing away at their own cigars and throwing their heads back with laughter at every other word. Neither Ichabod nor Abberline knew any of them, but they all seemed to know who they were.

'So, constable. Do tell us of New York.' One gentleman inquired.

Ichabod narrowed his eyes on him, wondering how on earth he knew where he lived. He answered nonetheless, 'It contrasts to London if I do say so, sir.'

'And how are you and Inspector Abberline coming along with the Ripper case?'

Ichabod did not care to answer anymore questions from these men that were obviously asking just for the sake of asking, 'Fine.' He answered with firmness, glancing toward Abberline. They exchanged unison blank expressions.

'Still no suspect?' Another gentleman prompy asked with a smirk, rather pompously as if to rudely point out. Ichabod turned to look at him.

'Nobody official, sir.'

To this answer the gentleman's smirk deepened, shaking his head sarcastically. 'Pity. We were so hoping you Americans could come save our street whores. Inspector Abberline didn't seem to be contending to much success.'

Abberline cut in, 'Do excuse me, sir. But can _please _stop being an arse?'

'Inspector!' Ichabod scolded in hush.

'I'm not 'aving this bloody windbag talk to you an' me like that.'

'Excuse me, gentlemen.' The constable dismissed himself, grabbing Abberline's shoulder and turning him around, marching him in the opposite direction.

The gentlemen exchaged amused glances, smirking to each other.

* * *

The constable lead Abberline on into a discreet corridor, dimly lit. Perhaps even off limits to party guests, but it didn't seem to matter to a great extent.

'What's yer problem?' The Inspector stopped in place, abrupt as he turned to look at Ichabod.

'My problem is you seem to want to cause a confrontation!' Ichabod snapped, stern faced. 'I have no problem being banished from London, Inspector. I have a home elsewhere, but where would you go?'

'What does it matter to you?' The man replied lazily.

'It matters that I have morals, I can't let your temper get the best of you!'

'My temper?' Abberline's jaw near dropped, feeling defensive suddenly but he would not prove the man right.

'Yes, like a mule.' Ichabod said back, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.

The Inspector looked at him sternly, pausing as he leant himself a little closer, 'Fuck you.'

'Very subtle of you,' Ichabod sneered.

'Oh fer christsakes will you listen t'yerself?' The Inspector snapped, arms shooting straight. 'If you ain't 'ere to 'elp me then piss off back to New York and yer poxy bride!'

Abberline watched him for a reaction, but only saw the constable's face fall into a wince, hand lifting to clutch his chest. He rasped, as if struggling for breath, knees buckling as he collapsed to the floor.

'Crane .. ?' The Inspector uttered, looking taken. He dropped beside him, kneeling over him. _'Crane?!_'

Ichabod's breathing was thin and laboured, chest aching for air as his pale skin began to flush. The Inspector pressed two fingers to his forehead, hot and a sweat breaking.

'Oh fuck. _Fuck_!' Abberline stammered, snatching his hand back on reaction. He reached an arm around the constable's shoulders, trying to sit him up. At first he merely flopped upward as he was moved, but then his body stiffened and began to violently convulse.

'Fuck!' Abberline repeated, louder as he lowered the convulsing constable. 'Crane, fer christsakes pack it in! Crane!_ Ichabod_!'

He stood to his feet, backing away in horror as he watched the shaking man suddenly fall still. Legs and arms relaxing against the floor and head looking up at the ceiling, eyes wide open.

_'Shi .. t._' He uttered, staring for a moment in awe then breaking into a run. Running down the corridor where Ichabod had dragged him with the upmost urgency. He burst back into the ball-room, looking truly panicked as he shouted to all around.

'Someone 'elp! Someone get in there, 'elp him!' He yelled, increasingly aggressive to the naive people around. They began to bustle, gossiping banter suddenly being murmered over what could possibly be the matter. As some rather official men stepped forward and followed the Inspector through, Netley stayed quietly hidden in the crowd. Keeping his head low.


	9. I'm sorry

The next day was dimly lit, the hardly-present sun hiding behind fogged clouds. The trees of Victoria park swayed as the breeze lightly picked up the leaves.

A woman was perched upon a bench, looking out at the still pond water. The morning cold, making her shivver under his torn, faded dress.

'Mary,' Inspector Abberline approached the bench from behind, the woman turned over her shoulder, 'You shouldn't be out alone,'

'Its broad daylight, isn't it Inspector?' Mary answered with a slight smile, turning back to look over the water. 'Besides, I likes to be 'ere, makes me feel like theres a better meaning to my life.'

The Inspector quietly took a seat beside her, looking at her intently. 'Why would ye' think your life 'as a poor meaning, Mary?'

Mary chuckled, 'I'm an unfortunate, Inspector. You can 'ardly call what I 'ave a life.' She said, then deciding to promptly change the subject. 'Why you out so early anyways?'

'I was actually on me way down to the 'ospital.' Abberline said in a quiet voice, as if admitting it. Mary looked to him, eyebrows raised.

'Who's in there that you know?' She asked.

'Crane.' He answered, looking grim. 'Sent off there last night after quite abit of a lapse.'

Mary looked astonished, 'Last night? Wasn't that .. '

' .. Yeah, it was.' He cut in quickly, knowing she recalled that they were at Buckingham Palace last night. 'I thought I was looking at a dyin' man. Mary.'

The woman quietly offered him a consoling pat on his arm, 'Is 'e alright?'

'I've not seen 'im since he was whisked off in a carriage last night.' He answered. 'Godley's there right now, at the 'ospital.'

'Well, don't let me keep you.' Mary offered with a smile, lowering her hand back to her lap. 'Let me know how 'e is, Inspector. He seemed a nice man.'

* * *

The sargeant paced the entrance back and forth, hands behind his back and impatient frown on his face. He had been waiting a considerable while and was beginning to mentally curse himself for thinking the man would ever be on time. As he was about to give up all hope, he spotted the figure of the Inspector pacing up the stairs.

'Are you ever bloody on time?' He said, annoyed as the man pushed the hospital door open and stood before him.

'No, now 'ow is he?' Abberline said sternly.

'Gull's calling him a bloody medical miracle.' Godley answered with slight astonishment.

'What, Sir Gull's 'ere?'

'Yes, he caught some people bringing the Constable in last night and insisted he see to him.' The sargeant answered, signalling for Abberline to follow him down the corridor. 'Quite adament actually.'

The Inspector quickly paced alongside his hasty companion, 'So what 'appened?'

'That, dear friend, is what we are going to find out.'

Abberline kept silent from that word on as they strode down the hallway corridor, beds of the ill and injuired strewn here and there and bustling doctors pacing this way and that. At last they came to an enclosed room with curtains drawn over the window that looked inside. Right on cue, Gull stepped out of the door, offering a welcoming smile to the two men.

'Good morning gentlemen.' He greeted, closing the door behind him.

'Mornin', sir.' Abberlined replied, reaching out and shaking hands with him. 'Pardon my asking, but did y' not say you had resolved yer medical practice t' teachin nowadays?'

'As true as that is, Inspector, I just could not quite bring myself to walk away.' Gull replied, lowering his hand.

'How is he?'

'He rests.'

The Inspector let out a relieved exhale, 'So, what happened t' him?'

'I'll leave you lot to it.' Godley quicked interjected, turning and taking his leave.

'The cause is not quite clear yet, Inspector. But I have reason to believe,' Gull paused, 'I believe he suffered an opium overdose.'

Abberline frowned to the man, then down at the floor. Opium, his secret passion. 'I didn't know the constable was an addict.' He said, head low.

'He insisted strongly against the notion, saying he has never touched it.' The man said thoughtfully. 'Do you, Inspector, perhaps have reason to believe the constable chased the dragon?'

Abberline thought, 'No, I wouldn't think so. 'e refused cigerettes whenever I offered him them.'

The word _cigerette_ made the Inspector think of his last, at his home last night. Laced with his guilty pleasure and filling the room with its essense. The constable interrupting by knocking at his door. That thought made Abberline's brow furrow in deep thought, at how the man had coughed quite heavily at inhaling the fumes. Opium ridden fumes.

'Gull ...,' He said, voice shaking. 'You sure it was opium?'

'Positive, Inspector.'

* * *

Inside the room, the constable slept in a faded-white sheeted bed. His dark hair swept over his forehead and his eyes ringed from the strain of it all, skin that bit more drained. The Inspector and Gull entered after a few more minutes of conversation.

'I am both amazed and astounded that he is alive.' Gull exclaimed, beginning to back out of the room. 'He intook enough to cause fatality.'

'Alright,' The Inspector cut in sharply, wincing at the thought that all of that could have been down to him.

'Good day, Inspector.' The man offered a farewell smile before taking his leave, closing the door behind him. Confident that he was left discreet the Inspector neared the resting Constable, stopping at his bedside. Looking down over him grimly.

'I di'n't mean what I said, Crane.' He said quietly, as if admitting to some unholy alliance. Half believing the man could hear his words. 'You _was _tryin' t' help, and I treated y'like shit on my shoe.'

A beat, 'I'm sorry.'

The man's head hung like it were in a noose, sorry for treating him poorly, sorry for potentially killing him, sorry for thinking he was like the rest of those pompous constables.


	10. Slipping death

_'Ichabod .. Ichabod_ .. '

Her voice echoed, soft and velvety though her lips did not move. The dark haired beauty cradled her young son on her lap, stroking his own dark hair as he clung to her, crying softly. She began to sing to him, hushing into his hair. A beautiful requiem, a haunting melody. The mother lowered her hand from caressing her child's face, opening his hand with her fingers and gingerly tracing her symbol of craft unto his palm, casting her white magic. She continued to sing even as the cloaked figure approached her from behind, breathing hard and furious. Only did she stop when her hair was grabbed and pulled harshly, making her throw her head back with a piercing scream.

* * *

_'No!'_

Ichabod sat bolt upright, jerked from his dreams and staring with alarm at the wall opposite. He panted heavily, recovering as he quickly registered where he was. The room dark with the night with only a candle at his bedside. As his breathing relaxed, he glanced his head around, seeing beside him perched upon a chair, Abberline. Looking rather alarmed and cautious. Not a word was spoken for a brief moment, just the silent exchange of unblunken stares. Finally, a somewhat embarrassed Ichabod lay back into his pillow, feeling suddenly exhausted.

'Hello,' He said weakly, the Inspector then collecting himself.

'How y'feeling?' Abberline asked, gentle but eager. The constable gave an uncertain shuffle in his bed before answering.

'Peculiar.' He answered.

The Inspector nodded, pretending to be satisfied with his answer before awkwardly glancing down at the floor, unsure now of what he could say. Earlier, he had known exactly what he wanted to say, ask. But now the words seemed to have left him.

'They think I am an opium addict.' Ichabod quietly spoke up, drained of strength enough to make his voice more pronounced. 'I'm not.'

'I know.' The Inspector said quickly.

'Are you humouring me?' Ichabod asked, frowning.

Abberline instantly looked alarmed, looking to him. 'No,' He gushed. 'I'm not humourin' you.'

The Inspector took a deep breath, letting a moment pass him. 'Why didn't y'die?'

'Did you _want_ me to die?'

'Answer me.'

Ichabod stared at him, then sitting up slowly with great effort and glaring round the room's floor. 'Where is my coat?'

'Your _what_?'

'My _coat_. Where is it?'

The Inspector furrowed his brow at the odd request, but decided to comply to avoid to risk of the constable getting up himself and collapsing due to lack of strength. He stood from the chair, walking up to the wooden-framed door and retrieving Ichabod's black coat from a hung peg. The constable reached out his hand, accepting his coat from the Inspector and reaching his hand into the interior pocket and rummaging, before pulling out a petite, blue shaded book and offering it to Abberline.

'What's that?'

'You wanted to know why I seem so impervious to death?' Ichabod asked sternly, thrusting the book at him. Hesitantly, Abberline took the book from him and frowned down at it, entitled, _A Compendium of Spells, Charms and Devices of the Spirit World_.

He observed the title, then flick the book open to the first page. Reading two names, _Elizabeth Van Tassel_ and _Katrina Van Tassel_, scrawled in italics.

'Katrina,' Abberline uttered, question in his voice. 'I'nt that your fiance's name?'

Ichabod gave a brief nod, quietly letting him read. As the man began to flick, the constable stopped him at one page. A page with an intricate symbol, centred with one all-seeing eye.

'She is why I did not die.' Letting his hand fall, he lay back again. 'Her white magic.'

The Inspector looked at Ichabod sceptically, letting the book close in his hands. _'Witchcraft?_' He said, half scoffing at the idea.

'White magic.' Ichabod repeated, insisting.

'I reckon your fevered, constable.' Abberline suggested, reaching forward to feeling the constable's forheard, but the man leaned away.

'You tell me how a man can take a run through with a sword and still be here to tell the tale, Inspector. How a man can collapse with a final breath yet still slip from death's cold grasp?' Ichabod said, raising his voice slightly which strained him. '_You_ tell _me_!'

'Calm it down.' Abberline ordered, sitting back down. He looked down at the book in his hands as the constable collected himself, still somewhat furious at the man's skepticness towards him. The Inspector raised the book to present it, a frown on his face. 'Why's there a bullet 'ole in it?'

Ichabod hesitated, 'I was shot at.'

'Alright, so far you've been impaled, intoxicated, and now shot at.' The Inspector said, daring suggest a smile. 'Is there anyone that _don't_ want to kill ye', Crane?'

Ichabod frowned at the Inspector, looking of the upmost seriousness, but only briefly. Abberline's smile broadened, and it didn't take the two long to break into mirthful chuckles.


	11. Lilyflower

The following day was a bright one, sun beaming through the curtains of Ichabod's hospital room. He had been up hours, gradually building up the strength to walk and pacing the room back and forth. Even in sickness, the constable refused to remain in his nightclothes for an entire day, stubbornly insisting that he dress himself and today was no exception. He paced to the chest of drawers, rummaging for a clean shirt which he soon enough found. A nurse had placed a jug of water near the basin for him. The constable quickly shrugged off his nightshirt, letting it drop to a rumpled heap on the floor and proceeding to wring out a provided cloth and bring it to his face, dabbing here and there. As he did, he reminded himself that today he would not be bed-bound, today he would be productive. On rising his damp head, he caught a sight of himself in the opposite mirror, shirtless torso revealing the faded yet angry scar below his collar bone. Letting the cloth slip from his hands into the basin, he slowly neared, frowning at his reflection. His face became a mere inch from the mirror, lifting his hand and brushing his fingertips along the surface of his faded wound, gingerly trailing.

'Ello there, sir.' A woman's voice chimed in from the doorway, making Ichabod jump in fright and turn in alarm, quickly snatching his hand back. The woman was clad in a proud but somewhat worn red dress, her hair sloppily pinned up and her lips curled into a wicked grin. She savoured his awkwardness, letting her eyes fall down to his bare torso, nodding with approval. 'Not bad, I says. Not bad.'

'Oh, constable. Ignore her.' Mary's voice broke in, the woman brushing past the woman in the doorway and presenting herself in the room. In her hand she held a lily. She quickly noted the situation. 'Oh, are we disturbin' you?'

Ichabod quickly made a grab for his clean shirt, pulling it over his head then smiling nervously to Mary, avoiding the amused smirk of the woman in the doorway. 'No not at all.'

Mary gave a curt nod, stepping forward and offering the slightly withered lily to Ichabod. 'For you. Glad to see yer recovering.' She then rolled her eyes mischeiviously, nodding to her friend in the doorway. 'And she should 'ave knocked first.'

'I don't regret it one bit.' She beamed proudly, hands on hips. 'The man's got a good ripe chest, 'e has.'

Ichabod quietly accepted the flower, shifting uncomfortably. 'Thank you for the lily.' He uttered, turning and placing it slightly into the water basin, letting the stem dip.

'Liz, pack it in. Come on, come introduce yerself.' Mary said promptly, stepping aside and allowing her friend to step forward. 'Constable, this is me' mate, Liz.'

'Elizabeth Stride.' Liz announced with a rather smug smirk, extending her hand and flexing her fingers straight so the man could kiss her hand like a gentleman. She waited, as he stared at her hand unsurely. Finally, he reached his own hand up and cautiously shook her fingers. 'Good day,'

The constable lowered his hand, ignoring Liz's disappointed sigh. He looked to Mary. 'I cannot feel that you didn't come here just to give me a flower.'

The flame haired woman bit on her lower lip, looking slightly anxious. 'It's the Ripper, sir. He's 'ad another one of us.'

Ichabod's frowned. 'When?'

'Last night.' She replied, quickly glancing to Liz who was looking the constable up and down with a smirk on her face. 'It was Annie, this time. Annie Chapman.'

'Our Anne,' Liz injected, somewhat solumn. 'Dark Annie, we called 'er.'

Ichabod raised his fingers to his head, cradling his forehead between his finger and thumb. 'I-I need to find Abberline .. '

'He's already there, sir. At the scene with the sargeant and the other constables.'

'What? Why did no-one send for me?' The constable gaped, irritation in his voice. Mary cocked her head, looking at him as if it were simple.

'Yer' in a hospital' She said gently. 'Hardly in a state t'go chasing Rippers.'

'I am better now.' Ichabod insisted, fetching his cravat hastily from the drawer and proceeding to knot it around his neck. 'Mary, please hand me my waistcoat.'

True to word, Ichabod's waistcoat hung from a peg on the wall beside Mary, she went to reach for it but Liz pipped her to the post, brushing past her and sweeping the garment in her own hand before Mary could even brush her fingers to it. She offered it to the constable, batting her eyes at him.

'Here y'go, sir.' Liz said huskily. Ichabod looked at her wearily, uneasied by her persistence. He quickly took his waistcoat from her and shrugged it on, beginning to button it up. Liz put her hands on her hips, smirking with victory.

'You look like death,' Mary said firmly, cupping his chin in her hand, making him look level at her. 'D'you even know why what happened t'you happened t'you?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, people don' just collapse without another breath in them.' She answered, releasing his chin and keeping a confidence that he would now willingly look at her. 'You could be sick, really sick.'

'I'm not sick!' Ichabod insisted firmly, looking at her sternly. The man did not know why he had suffered his unfortunate lapse but he did not have the time to investigate, he would make do in his own time. What mattered now was that he was up on his feet, even if slightly fatigued.

'Oi, don't you raise your voice at me.' Mary said, just as firmly, waving her finger in his face. 'And how can you say your not sick? Look at you.'

With that, the woman gripped his shoulders and sharply turned him in the direction of his mirror. The constable sighed in aggravated, clearly not at ease with the notion as he wished to be elsewhere. To humour her, he took a quick look at his reflection, then double took. This time, his attention was not on his scar, but his face. Ichabod's face slowly fell from the stern expression as he beholded his skin a shade more sallow then usual, the corners of his eyes tinged red as well as underneath ringed dark, his lips dry from dehydration.

* * *

'Hmph, grapes again.' Godley sighed, eyeing the sprig in the Inspector's twirling fingers.

'Well observed, Godley.'

'I've always wondered, why grapes?'

Abberline lowered the thin grape's spring back into the frail palm of the freshly dead Annie Chapman. 'A low standard man couldn't a' done this. Grapes, they're quite the luxury.'

Godley hardly acknowledged his words, quickly cutting in. 'Yeah, but why grapes?'

The Inspector reflected his unacknowledgment. No answer escaping his lips as he reached into his pocket and pulled out two bronzed coins. He let them linger on his fingers, then gingerly placed one atop of each of Annie's closed eyes. Once finished resting the coins, he lowered his head solumnly.

'I've never fully understood that tradition.' Godley voiced, frowning down at the Inspector's ritual.

'The watchman waits at the gates to the afterlife, sargeant.' He began, lifting his head and casting his eyes down to the body assayed his pieces of bronze. 'He waits to collect his coins.'

'If she don't 'ave the money to pay him, he will not allow 'er to enter. So must wander lost between two worlds.' Abberline finished, coming to stand to his feet.

'So it's a kindness your doing her, aye?' Godley said, folding his arms. 'Thee has taught well, nay ..'

'Greatly, Godley. Greatly.' Abberline finished his sentence for him, his way of answering. He paused, frowning down at the floor before voicing his next reluctant question. 'Sargeant, whats yer taken on .. witches?'

'_Witches_?' Godley inquired, scoffing. 'I've never really brushed the thought, Inspector. Never had a mind to cross paths with any woman who may be wart-ridden, cackling like a hag and enthralled to the black arts.' He spoke with a laugh, clearly joking and thinking the question ludicrous. 'Why do you ask?'

The Inspector hesitated, 'Well, y'see .. Constable Crane seems t' believe that 'is luck was down t' some kind of magic.' He paused. ''White magic, 'e called it.'

'Was he fevered?'

'Couldn't tell. Wouldn't let me within an inch of 'im.' Abberline replied. 'But the whole idea that a man with 'is smarts could believe in ghouls and goblins is .. odd.'

'Right,' Godley said, somewhat taken. 'I'm starting to think he did chase the dragon afterall.'

'Don't, Godley.' The Inspector insisted firmly to which the sergeant abruptly halted his sentence and started afresh.

'I'll 'ave a word with the higher constable.' He said, turning to walk away but the Inspector grabbed his arm and quickly turned him.

'No, Godley. Y'cant ...'

'Well, it all seems abit fantastic to me.' The sargeant scoffed. 'So far he hasn't proved much useful to this investigation and now he's trying to convince us he is conspired with some kind of magic alliance?'

'He's done more then you think, Godley.' Abberline muttered quietly but forcefully, releasing the man with a furrowed brow. 'Talk to the bastards, but Godley .. '

'Yes, Inspector?'

'Promise me y' won't let them ..' He hesitated again, 'Y'know .. hurt 'im.'

Godley frowned, carefully stepping toward the man. 'I didn't think you the type to fret about your peers, Inspector?'

Abberline stared at the man before shuffling from foot to foot, words refusing to must. After a moment of silence, he began to turn to walk away. But Godley stopped him, gripping his arm but not turning him. The Inspector let his eyes fall shut, back to the sergeant though in his halted grip.

'Abberline .. '

'Godley, don't .. ' Abberline pleaded quietly, breathing heavy as if uneasy. The sergeant lowered his hand from the Inspector's arm, knowing the man would not walk away from him. He let the crucifying silence dither for a moment more before opening his mouth to speak in a hushed tone.

'A rose by any other name, is that it?'


	12. In his hands

Netley sat at the worn table, shaking uncontrolablly in his own feelinsg of disquiet and dread. 'I'm sorry sir, I failed you.'

A gloved hand coiled over the man's trembling shoulder, making him flinch. The figure spoke in a rasp, calm and quiet. 'Tell me what happened, Netley.'

'I .. I gave 'im the drink, drugged it to the gills, I did. And I 'eard yellin'.'

'Who was yelling?'

'Th' Inspector, sir. Was shoutin' that the constable was in trouble. I thought I'd done it, what you'd asked.'

'But you hadn't, had you Netley?'

'I should 'ave,' Netley whimpered in his defense, feeling the hand tighten on his shoulder. 'I don't know how he could have lived through it, but I'm sorry, sir.'

'Oh Netley.' The voice sympathised, though mockingly. 'It was foolish of me to entrust such a task to you. You were unready ..'

'I was, sir! I swear I was!' He cried. 'I gave 'im the opium! I did, I _did_!'

'I know,' The figure sighed. 'But I think .. I think I shall take matters into my own hands.'

* * *

The hour was early, hardly a star gracing the night sky as the breeze gently blew the curtains. The constable frowned at the wall opposite, sitting pin straight upon his bed. It had crucified him to be forced to stay in one room all through the day. Not only had Mary Kelly forbade him from leaving the room, but so had several doctors. It made him feel useless, confined.

On top the bedside draw next to him, was a binded letter that had arrived earlier in the day. It was addressed to one Constable Ichabod Crane, and the man knew who it was from. His sweet Katrina, but he had sworn not to read it while in such a foul disposition.

As the breeze blew in through the window, it sent a chill through him. He had been sitting there long enough, convinced himself he must be somewhat collected by now. The constable's hand reached forward, picking up the letter and letting it fall from its loose bindings onto his lap. Holding it to his face, he squinted as he read.

_'My dear Ichabod,  
I hope writing to you will bring you the hope and encouragement you need to fulfil your capabilities. Masbeth and I miss you so. The snow falls and blankets the streets like a wonderland and yet I do not have you here to enjoy it with me. That being said, I have wonderful news that I hope will shine as much light on you as it did me. I can tell you now, my love, that I am with child. Your child.  
When you return, I shall be waiting with open arms and a smile on my face.  
All my love,  
Katrina.'_

The words danced around the letter, mainly circling and highlighting the words with child. Ichabod swallowed in astonishment, clutching the letter against his chest as he breathed heavily. How can one feel so elated and stricken with a sense of fear all at once?

'With child,' He breathed, testing it for himself to force himself to believe it. 'My child.'


	13. Men of power

A young gentleman with crystal blue eyes and a wave in his dark hair stood behind glass, quietly observing the medical procedure taking place before him. Unphased by any blood smatter. A fine young doctor who had learnt to control any squeam.

'Dr. Ferral,' A voice addressed from behind the young man, making him turn to the revealed person. An elderly gentleman with immaculate posture, standing aloof. Hair and moustache like a white cloud. Such a figure could only be defined as the Inspector's superior, Sir Charles Warren. 'Might I steal a word?'

'Oh,' The young doctor exclaimed, somewhat surprised but quickly recovering. 'Of course, sir.'

The elderly officer briskly turned, the audience standing aside slightly to allow the respected man through while Dr. Ferral followed him. In no time at all, they were standing in a discreet corridor. No other persons present.

'Is there something I can do for you, Sir Warren?' Ferral asked politely.

'It is more what I may ask of you in the forthcoming future, Doctor.' The man replied sharply. 'You are aware of the Constable brought in from New York?'

'I heard a Constable was treated at the London hospital, yessir.'

'Well, he is assisting Inspector Abberline .. ' Warren stopped, 'You do know Inspector Abberline, dont you?'

'I do, sir.'

The officer continued, 'It has come to my attention that he seems to be suffering delusions.'

The doctor raised his eyebrows, though such a statement was not new to him. 'Delusions, sir?'

'Apparently he believes in the art of witchcraft, and carries a compendium of sorts on his person at all times.' He answered. 'I would like for you to monitor his behaviour, and perhaps have a look inside this so sacred book.'

'If the worse should happen, sir. Out of my own curiosity, would you be sending him back to New York?'

'We would, but beforehand is when I would need you,' Warren proceeded. 'If the constable is seen mentally unstable, believing in witchery and magic arts, then I would like for the proper action to be taken.'

Dr. Ferral delivered a polite nod, 'I shall indeed keep my eye on him, sir.'

The men exchanged dismissive glances, then turned away.


	14. Near absconding

Inside the modest brickhouse, the wood-fuelled fire glowed while two men sat upon chairs before it, the small dog sleeping upon the carpet between them. The Inspector raised the chipped glass to his lips, drinking hungrily at its contents. Godley furrowed his brow, sitting opposite and leaning forward eagerly. 'You have to talk Abberline, whether it be to me or God knows who.'

'I don't want to.' The man uttered quietly.

'It's not about what you want, it's about what's good for you.' Godley insisted. 'Speaking of which .. '

The sergeant reached forward and swiftly snatched the glass from the Inspector's hand, setting it aside on a small table. ' .. That's not good for you.'

'God you sound like my mother.'

'I thought it was that Mary Kelly you so pined for?' Godley inquired, the man opposite glancing blankly down at the floor. 'Now your affectioning on after the Constable?'

Still, not a response. Just a guilty, blank stare.

'So not only do you chase dragons, you chase chauvinists too?'

'_Jesus_, Godley!' Abberline snapped, lifting his head up with a hurt, but firm frown on his face. 'Crane is _not_ a chauvinist.'

'He's certainly not far from it.' Godley said. 'Not far from Bethlam either.'

'Bethlam? _Why_?' The Inspector asked.

'You remember how you told me in his beliefs in the arts of witchery?' The man began, but his voice shamefully trailed off. 'Well, word got round .. '

Abberline froze in place, breathing progressively harder. 'D'ya have any idea what they'd do t'him in Bethlam?'

'I'm sure it won't happen, Inspector. You know those officers, all talk and no fire.'

The Inspector exhaled deeply, sinking into his chair. The bulldog on the floor since awoken and sniffing at his owner's leg, he nudged at him with his nose. The man glanced down, letting out a sigh as he reached down to retrieve his pet and rest him on his lap.

Abberline grumbled quietly, lightly stroking at his dog with the tips of his fingers.

* * *

'Well, you're certainly looking rosier.' Mary smiled, sitting upon the hospital bed with her hands crossed across her lap as the constable gathered the last of his belongings. The man did not reply, simply carrying on to push items into his bag.

'That's more then you brought.' The woman noticed, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He paused, pressing his lips together as if struggling for words.

'I'm leaving.' Ichabod replied quietly.

'Yes, I can see that.' Mary smiled again, assuming the wrong.

'No, I'm leaving,' The constable looked at her again, stressing the word. 'I am leaving London.'

Mary's smile dropped. 'What? Y'can't! The Ripper's still out there!'

Ichabod raised his fingers to his forehead, sighing and rubbing at his head as if it were aching. 'I must.'

'_Why_?' Mary pleaded.

Setting his bag down, Ichabod stepped forward and sat himself beside the newly distraught woman on top of the hospital bed. He waited, thinking on his next actions. Then he reached into the inner pocket of his waist jacket and produced a folded letter, offering it to Mary.

'It is Katrina,' He said as Mary took the letter from his fingers and began to scan the writing with a frown on her face. The constable waited for her to reach the reason he was returning to the city.

'She's pregnant?' Mary uttered after a gruesome silence, looking up at the quiet constable.

'Yes,' Ichabod answered, 'I must be with her.'

The woman rose, smiling awkwardly. 'Constable, it's really sweet that you want to go and be with her, but please. Not yet.'

'Mary ..'

'_Please_.' She pleaded.

There was a knock at the door almost on que, both constable and woman turning to look at the door. A man walked in, young and official. Dr. Ferral.

'I'm sorry, am I interrupting?' He asked politely, not taking another step forward.

'Well, actually .. ' Mary began. The doctor raised his hand, shunning her.

'I was speaking to the Constable.' He said firmly, looking down on her and glancing to said constable.

'She was just leaving.' Ichabod said quietly, not daring look at the crushed woman. Her lips shook, near tearing up. Finally, she turned and rushed out of the room, hitching her dress as she ran down the corridor. Ferral waited for her to fully leave before approaching Ichabod, extending a hand to greet him.

'Constable Ichabod Crane, at last we meet.' He said, the man opposite accepting his handshake.

'Do you know me, sir?' Ichabod asked, lowering his hand to place both arms behind his back.

'I've heard of you, constable.' Ferral said. 'Dr. John Ferral, sir.'

The doctor glanced passed the constable, eyeing the partly packed case and various notes scattered across the bed. 'Are you going somewhere, constable?'

Ichabod flinched, trying desperately to find a way to avoid answering. 'I .. I am leaving the hospital.'

Ferral looked at him doubtfully. 'Is that so?'

He nodded eagerly. 'Yes, sir.'

'Well, I shall not keep you. Will I see you at the morgue later?' Ferral asked.

'Is there a need I go to the morgue?' Ichabod asked with a furrowed brow.

'Of course! The other doctors and myself are rather eager to see an autopsy perfomed by you, sir. Are you aware another unfortunate was murdered?' He asked. The constable gave one sallow nod.

The doctor grinned, 'Then we should like for you to find what was taken.'

'Taken?'

'Yes, organs. At least three were removed.'

Ichabod's upper lip gave an infamous flinch. 'Interesting.'

'Indeed,'

There was a brief pause, when Ichabod finally spoke. 'If you will excuse me, sir. I must be leaving soon to find the Inspector.'

'Oh, Inspector Abberline?'

'Yes.'

'I do believe I saw him before I arrived.' Ferral said, to which Ichabod stepped forward eagerly.

'Where? Where was he?'

'Well .. ' He began, stopping to think. 'He was walking across the square, if you are wishing to catch him I suggest you make haste.'

With that, Ichabod turned on his heel, throwing papers and clothing into his bag in an almighty rush. As he did, Ferral slowly backed into a drawer behind him. Turning and reaching down to a small blue book, Katrina's compendium. Not sparing a moment, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket before turning again to the constable, who still had his back to him.

Within quite possibly the following seconds, Ichabod threw on his long coat and grabbed his bag, rushing past Dr. Ferral without a backward glance. The young doctor waited in the room, smirking quietly as he recalled the petite, stolen compendium inside his jacket.

Meanwhile, as Ichabod rushed down the stepway his eyes scanned across the bustling metropolis that was the square. He slowed, his brow furrowing as he realised he had missed the Inspector. If he was ever even there.

* * *

Author's note: Dr. Ferral was never given a first name in the movie, so please acknowledge that I only named him 'John Ferral' just so he could have a name here.

And woah, if you've read this far. Thanks for having the patience to flip through 14 chapters ;)

More to come


	15. Choosing fate

The quaking constable stood with his eyes squeezed shut, clad in a smudged apron and sleeves rolled to his elbows. Before him, was the body of Annie Chapman, or Dark Annie as her friends so liked to label her. Behind him, a small group of public officials, including Charles Warren, Godley and Abberline. The public servants stood shoulder to shoulder, huddling together and quietly murmering which did nothing for Ichabod's confidence. Godley and Abberline stood patiently aside. His eyes fell down to the tools given to him, nothing but a simple set of scissors and knives, and to top it all off he was being observed. Which, of _course_, would make he concentration suffer greatly under the pressure of ever watchful eyes.

'Are you going to _begin_, constable?' Warren asked behind him.

'I am not ready.' Ichabod answered, taking a deep breath and reaching into his black case. In his hand, he pulled out a collection of intricate and cleverly exaggerated tools made to nip, cut and lift. There was a brief hush over the crowd as the young man stooped before the case, lowering his head and beginning to fiddle. When he eventually lifted his head, he had strapped upon him a pair of eccentic spectacles, clamped to his head. '_Now_, I am ready.'

'What in _god's_ name is that on your head, Crane?' One of the officials exclaimed, to which Ichabod ignored and levelled himself to lean down to the body. Incisionary tool in hand, he scanned over the bloodied surface of Annie's body, not getting too close. Instead, he opting to twist and turn at his spectacles, to which the astonished crowd learned would magnify his vision.

'Looks like a horse's birdle,' Godley quietly chuckled to the Inspector, to which the man gave a small sound of acknowledgment. Ichabod turned his head slightly, glaring at the sargeant over his shoulder.

'Do _not_ think I cannot hear you, sargeant.'

'Sorry, constable.' The man's reply still had a hint of hilarity in his voice, but he lowered his head to hide his smirk. With that, the young constable turned back to his work, pursing his lips as he hovered his tool over this and that, pondering where to make the first cut. Misstatement. There were many cuts, not to mention torn flesh. All Ripper-inflicted of course.

Ichabod then began. Delicatly slicing at the flesh and wincing at any blood flow. The group behind grew deathly silent, twisting their heads to get a good look. Abberline leaned to Godley, quietly muttering a near silent whisper.

'_Why d'these people need t'watch him?_'

'_They're public officials, Inspector. They sent for the man, so I'm afraid he has to bow to their every whim_.' The sargeant whispered back discreetly.

'_Look at 'im_.' The Inspector urged. '_He's shakin' like a leaf. His works g'na suffer if they keep watchin' him like this_.'

Godley shook his head, '_There's nothing we can do. If you don't want to watch, nobody's keep you here._'

A short, sharp gasp interrupted the quiet banter. Both men turned their heads to see the constable struggling not to drop a bloodied organ that was slipping clumsily in his hands. They blinked in amazement as they observed him squeamishly juggling it between hands, as if it were a red hot object he did not desire contact with. Eventually, he lost the battle and the organ fell to the floor with a sickening _splat_.

There was a very awkward pause, all eyes down at the bloodied mess before Ichabod's feet. Finally, he decided to break the silence. 'She .. she is missing one kidney.'

'Is that all?' Someone in the crowd piped up.

'I am not finished.' He answered firmly, turning to look down at the body again. Easing in, he lengthened the incision line with a contorted wince on his face. Parting the skin and delicatly moving this and that with his fingers, pressing down as blood dripped from the gaping hole and onto the floor. Also onto the constable's boots which he _had_ noticed but did not act on. Squinting, he peered into the body. His mouth fell opened as he felt his knees quake, near buckling point.

'What have you discovered, constable?' Godley piped up, noticing the man's body tremble.

'Her .. ' Ichabod began, breath caught in his throat. ' .. Her intestines are missing.'

The Inspector took this opportune to cut in, stepping forward and facing the group. Inconspicuously, he stepped to hide the quaking constable. Giving him a moment to gather himself. 'Sargeant Godley and m'self recovered Miss Chapman's intestines at th' scene.' He looked to Godley, still trying to buy the constable another moment or so. '_Didn't_ we, Godley?'

The sargeant looked at him quizzically, but decided to comply. 'Yes, we certainly did.'

Abberline nodded once firmly, stepping aside and backing beside Godley once more. Ichabod took a second longer to compose himself, fiddling with his intricate knife tool awkwardly in his fingers.

'Constable, what kind of tools are _those_?' Warren inquired, frowning at the tool in his hands. Ichabod jumped at the question, holding said tool protectively in his grasp.

'O-one of my own design, sir.'

'_Those_, too?' The man inquired, raising his brow at the spectacles on his head. The constable was visably un-nerved, a result of suffering from the glares of the watchful crowd.

Abberline cut in, 'Sir Warren, beg my pardon but I don't 'fink - '

'I will not pardon you, Inspector.' The officer spoke with authority, silencing Abberline in place. 'I believe I was addressing the _constable_.'

'I don't believe that quizzing th' constable on 'is tools of practice will get this autopsy done _any_ faster, sir.' Abberline added.

'Are you questioning me, Inspector?' Warren asked sternly. Godley approached Abberline from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder.

'Back down, Abberline. Leave it.' He pleaded forcefully. The Inspector balled his hands into fists, turning away with a reluctant exhale, burying his tension as Warren continued on with his inquizative chatter.

'As I was saying, constable .. ' He continued, Ichabod casting his astonished glance from Abberline to the official. ' .. What are _those_?'

Ichabod swallowed, looking to his tools set about the tabletop. 'These .. ' He started, not really having a true name for tools he designed himself. 'These are mine.'

'I see,' Warren replied. 'You say you invented them yourself?'

'I did.'

'Pardon me, but do you perhaps use these for purposes other than surgical?' The man's tone became deadly serious.

'I do not understand.' Ichabod replied with a furrowed brow, Abberline watching carefully.

'Well, _this_ one in particular caught my eye.' Warren leaned past the constable, reaching and plucking a tool from the table. He examined it infront of his face, twirling it between his fingers. A tall, thin knife with a curve for a blade. 'It resembles the leatherman knife an awful lot, if I do say so.'

The crowd behind broke into horrified gasps, leading into the mumbles of exclaimed banter. Godley's jaw dropped, and Abberline stepped beside Ichabod, his face confounded.

'That is rather farfetched if _I_ say so, sir!' The Inspector exclaimed.

'Pardon my asking, but what _is_ a leatherman knife?' The constable asked, feeling both foolish and scared stiff at the horrified expressions he was earning.

'It is a torture device, constable.' He answered.

There was a pause, as Ichabod's heart began to pound inside his chest. 'A-are you accusing me of something, Sir Warren?' He asked, terrified of what the answer would be.

'I don't know yet, constable.' He replied.

* * *

The night that followed that day, Warren proceeded through the dreary, dark casted London streets. Aloof, authoritive. Tonight would seal a fate, it all trickled down to what would be decided.

'Hello, sir.' Dr. Ferral greeted, emerging from the shadow of a dark street corner beside a dimly lit lampost.

'Good evening, doctor.' Warren greeted. 'I trust you have been keeping a watchful eye on the constable?'

'Indeed I have,' He answered, producing the stolen compendium and offering it the the officer, which he dually accepted. 'A book of his dealings, sir. Page ridden with all sorts of incantations and witchery.'

'Incredible,' Warren exclaimed, quickly flicking through a page or two before glancing back at Ferral. 'So, he is quite certain in these absurd beliefs?'

'He is adament, sir.'

'Well, I do feel we have need for worry.' The officer sighed, tucking the blue book inside his coat. 'The man carries surgical tools, tools he had designed himself. I cannot pretend I do not fret about that, doctor.'

'Do tell me more, sir.'

'Well, these tools. They are so exaggerated and peculiar, they look almost .. _torturous._' Warren stressed the word slightly. Ferral gave one solumn nod, daring look back at the man.

'Then what do you propose?' Ferral asked.

'I do not see an other option,' He answered with a sad sigh. 'It is quite obvious to me now that we have brought a madman to London.'

There was a pause.

'I am calling for his arrest. Tommorow morning, Constable Ichabod Crane shall be taken to Bethlam.' Warren concluded.


	16. Seek me

There was a gentle knock.

'Come in.' The constable called, looking up from his writing. He was sitting at a wooden desk in the London law office, attempting to muster a reply to Katrina's letter. Though the woods were stubborn and refusing to assemble in Ichabod's head let alone onto paper.

'It's me,' Abberline said as he eased the door open, removing his bowler hat from the top of his head and resting it upon the tabletop, standing before Ichabod. 'Writin' more letters t'yer fiance?'

'Correct.' Ichabod replied, resting his hand atop the letter in some discreet attempt to hide the little words he had written thus far. Abberline shuffled awkwardly on his feet, then taking a seat beside him with a deep sigh.

'I wanted t'apologize for Warren showin' you up yest'rday.' He said quietly, head low. 'He's a pompous ol' .. '

' .. _Constable_?' Ichabod interjected, dropping his feather-pen and looking to Abberline. 'Like me, Inspector?'

The Inspector swallowed, lost for what to say at this sudden revelation. Not for a moment did Abberline think Ichabod knew his thoughts on the constables in the upper ranks. 'No, I didn't mean .. '

'Do you think I don't hear what you think of the constables? What you thought of _another _being brought into the case?' Ichabod folded his arms, frowning at the man. 'What was it you said? Head up his own backside?'

'Crane, where is this all _comin_' from?' The Inspector exclaimed, face twisted with confusion. 'Who rattled _your_ cage!'

The two glared at each other for a dithering moment, then Ichabod released a deep sigh and rubbed at his forehead with his fingers. 'Pardon my manner.' He said quietly, 'I have had some news.'

Abberline leant back in his chair, lighting a cigerette and taking a drag. 'Bad news?'

'Not at all.' Ichabod answered, lifting his head. 'It is wonderful news.'

The Inspector frowned at him. 'Well?'

The constable waited, 'Katrina is going to have my child.'

With an exhale of smoke, Abberline slowly sat upright and kept his eye on the constable. 'I would have thought any man would 'ave been happy at news like that? Are y'_not_ the father of summit?'

Ichabod shook his head. 'No, no. There is no doubt I am the father. But, that is what is bothering me ..'

Abberline did not speak a work, but waited for him to continue. The constable continued to rub at his forehead, sturggling. ' .. Seeing as my _own_ father was, _well_ .. '

'A disappointment?' Abberline tried.

'A tyrant.' Ichabod corrected, lowering his hand and sighing once more. 'I don't want to reflect .. what _he_ was, onto _my_ child.'

Words just refused to muster in the Inspector's mouth, all he found himself doing was rubbing his lips together uncomfortably. How could he advise him on something he knew near nothing about? He had no children, the fates had decided that for him. Choosing for his dear Victoria and their son to leave him. Only did Abberline return from his trail of grieving memories when he noticed the constable rubbing at his forehead once more, his dark eyes blurring with tears that refused to fall.

'Hey, what y'cryin' for?' Abberline started, resting his hand gingerly on the constable's shoulder. Hiding his somewhat crushed feelings. 'Yer scared now, Crane. But I'm sure you'll be a great father.'

Ichabod lifted his head with a defensive look upon his face, 'I'm not crying.' He mumbled, lifting his wrists to wipe at his eyes.

'Not yet,' Abberline smirked a little, pulling a hankerchief from his cuff. He thought he was going to offer it to Ichabod, but to his own surprise he was lifting it to the man's face, gently dabbing at his eyes. The constable quietly let him, sniffing quietly every now and then. The Inspector lowered his hand after a minute or so, the two staring at into each other like in some hypnotic trance and not daring look away. Abberline's head began to slowly ease forward, leaning toward the constable. Their faces growing closer, Ichabod didn't dare breath out except to breathe just one word.

'Frederick .. '

There was a loud and sudden crashing noise as the door broke in, several able bodied men flooding into the room. The Inspector and Constable jerked away from each other, staring bewildered at the sudden abruption.

'Wha' the bloody 'ell are y'_doing_!' Abberline exclaimed, jumping to his feet. An official stepped forward, frown on his face as several of his men seized Ichabod by the arms.

'_What_ _are you_..? Unhand me!' Ichabod cried, trying to shake them off but his arm was twisted behind his back and torso slammed against the table, causing him to cry out in pain.

'Get th' _fuck_ off 'im!' The Inspector attempted to pull at the men furiously, but was seized himself and restrained by two others. 'What d'you _want_!'

The official stepped forward calmly, ignoring Abberline's angry cries and addressing the pinned Ichabod, who was making efforted attempts to free himself. 'Constable Ichabod Crane, you are under arrest.'

The constable frowned up at him, breathing hard. 'What in god's name _for_?'

'You have been deamed mentally unfit and are to be assigned to Bethlam Royal Hospital.' He answered.

'Mentally unfit?!' Ichabod cried, astounded.

'_Bethlam_?!' Abberline exclaimed, making a single jerk forward but still under restraint. 'Your all _mad_!'

'No, 'e is.' The officer pinning down the constable smirked.

'Take him away.' The official dismissed with his hand, turning and taking his leave out of the doorway, the door lying in shambles on the floor. The officer jerked Ichabod's body painfully straight, pushing the reluctant man out the door.

'Y'bastards! Get _off _'im!' Abberline angrily snarled, trying to fight against the burly men holding him back. 'He's not _fucking_ mad!'

Ichabod struggled in the tight hold on him, '_Unhand_ me!' He shrieked one final time before disappearing from the doorway, the officer seizing him chuckling with wicked amusement.

'Craaaaane!' The Inspector cried out hard, his chest aching as he yelled. He had failed, he realised as he slumped helplessly. The struggle lost.


	17. Devils

'Doctor .. '

Ferral stepped forward confidently, a concentrated and determined frown upon his face. He stood face to face with his client, a dark, top-hatted silhouette with a hoarse, harsh voice.

'Crane is in Bethlam, sir.' He responded.

'Good. Very .. very .. good.' The figure rasped. 'What will become of him?'

'I have spoken with my superiors,' The doctor replied, a proud grin curling. 'And they have agreed.'

'Excellent.' He said.

* * *

Frederick Abberline sat upon the park bench, knowing that Mary should be there any moment. This was her sactuary, where she came to be at peace with herself. He so wished he could do that very same, push down his misease and for even the smallest measure of time, be at rest.

'Inspector?' A feminine voice remarked, making the man lift his head to behold a pleasantly astonished Mary Kelly. 'My, wha' a nice surprise.'

She sat down beside him on the bench, a pleasant beam upon her pretty face as she took a moment to glance round at the surroundings that brought her that bit of a peace. Only did her smile drop when she saw Abberline's tense face. 'What 'appened?' She asked, brow furrowed.

'You aren't goin' t'believe this.' He muttered, shaking his head.

'_What_ 'appened?' Mary repeated, resting her hand on his upper arm.

Abberline wet his lips, attempting to moisten the uncomfortable dryness. He refused to look at the woman, opting for down at the floor. 'Crane's been sent to Bethlam.'

Mary's mouth fell open, horrified.

'Ye', I thought you'd do that.' The Inspector mumbled.

'I-I don't understand! What reason could they possible of 'ad?' She exclaimed.

'Mentally unfit, they said.' Abberline spat, angrily. 'Fuckin' _bastards_.'

'Take it you don't agree wiv' them?' Mary lightly rubbed at his arm with her hand.

'Do you?' He looked to her intently. A pause.

'Of course I don't.' She replied, the Inspector suddenly breaking into an abrupt chesty cough. The man lowered his head as he tried to cease it. 'You alright, Inspector?'

'Ye' fine.' The Inspector sighed, recovering as he began running a hand through his hair and leaning his head back in frustration. He stared into the sky hopelessly, the feel of Mary's hand on his arm not quite as pacifying as the warmth of Ichabod Crane's face near his own.

* * *

'In y'go!' The guard roared, throwing Ichabod into the small, dirty room. The walls and floors nothing but stone, and the only hope of the outside word but a barred window out of reach on the upper wall. The young constable landed hard to the floor, his arms bound to him in the form of a buckled and stained straight-jacket, restricting his arms crossed over his chest. The guard slammed the barred door, sealing him in.

'I am sane!' Ichabod cried out furiously, straining himself in an attempt to sit himself up without use of his arms. 'I am _sane_!'

The man managed to clamber to his knees, staring up at the sealed door and slumping hopelessly. He shook his head, choking out his breaths. How long before he was _driven_ mad in a place like this? He could hear the moans and sobs of the mentally unfortunate. In fact .. some were somewhat too close for comfort. He turned to look west, seeing a woman. Blonde hair ragged and shaven and sheeted clothes torn and ripped. Her blue eyes gazed out of the window that admitted sunlight onto her broken form, quietly moaning.

Ichabod dared tempt his luck, 'Hello?'

She gave him no answer, just a ease of her tortured moans. Silent.

'_Hello_?' He tried again.

'Quiet,' The poor woman grumbled, slumping her head. 'Quiet .. quiet, just be quiet .. don't speak.'

The constable ignored her request, sitting himself on his legs as he faced her. 'What is your name?'

'Is' a lovely day,' She smiled sloppily, beaming at the sun. 'Lovely day.'

'My name,' He hesitated. 'My name is Ichabod Crane.'

'Cranes .. Birds .. me' Alice, laughin' at the birds .. ' She sighed.

'Alice?' The constable frowned, the name familiar. He had heard it somewhere, someplace, from someone. His heard perked in realisation. 'Alice .. '

He looked at her intently, 'Is your name .. _Anne Crook_?'

'Anne Crook.' She repeated with a silly grin, fingers twitching at her sides.

'Who did this to you?' He asked, not quite expecting an answer.

'The devils, they did it .. did it to me, they did it .. ' Anne mumbled.

'Did _what_ to you?'

'Killed me .. ' She said blankly, looking out to the window lazily once more. 'And .. they'll do it t'you .. '

'They'll _kill _me?' Ichabod exclaimed, alarmed.

'Alice .. laughin' to th'birds .. laughin' to me .. '

'_Answer_ me!' He cried, desperate.

'Oi, keep it down in there!' A guard bellowed, smacking at the bars on the door with his club and an angry snarl.

The man was glaring at Ichabod. 'You, we got someone 'ere t'see you.'

Ichabod didn't dare breathing, hoping to god it was who he thought it was. A figure stepped in through the doorway, causing Anne to shriek uncontrollable.

'Th'devil! The'devil!' She cried, head jerking in every direction. The man was Dr. Ferral, much to Ichabod's disappointment.

'Oh, be quiet you lunatic.' He snarled, delivering her a sharp slap across her face. The woman cowered in her corner, her cheek red raw.

'That was _hardly_ appropriate!' The constable snapped, glaring up at the doctor. 'What is the meaning of this, doctor!'

'Come on now, constable. Do not try to fool us of your sanity now,' The man shook his head solumnly, stooping the Ichabod's level. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a faded blue, small book and held it infront of the constable's face. Katrina's gift. 'Familiar?'

'You .. you _stole_ from me!' Ichabod exclaimed, then suddenly enraged. 'You are behind this!'

'No, not me constable.' Ferral shook his head, face seriously. 'It is not me who finds you bothersome.'

'Then what is _your_ motive?' He insisted.

Ferral ignored him. 'I am here to tell you that you are to be .. decommissioned, or dismantled if you will.'

The constable frowned at him, fear creeping. 'I don't understand.'

The doctor's eyes wandered to the whimpering Anne, who was covering her face with her pale hands. Ichabod followed his glance, searching for whatever he was suggesting. After a mere moment of glaring, his face fell horrified.

'Good _god_! Surely you cannot mean - '

'London officials have met with myself and my superiors and decided that you are simply too .. ' He began to smirk devilishly. ' .. _much_.'

'And so you will pass your adverse judgement and have me condemned?' Ichabod snapped.

'You make it sound so terrible.' Ferral said. 'We are doing London, and New York, a favour.'

Ichabod glared hard at him, intently. 'You can see I am sane.'

'Oh yes, I can constable.' Ferral spoke calmly. 'But you are in the line of fire. The flames must pass uninterrupted.'

'Flames _you_ fuelled.' The constable spat.

'Let me assure you, constable. It is not I that sent you here, though I may have played a part.' He said, then trailed off to a more dreaded subject. 'I shall be the one to operate on you.'

'You will not operate on me.'

'Yes I will.' Ferral said firmly, smiling faintly as he stood to his feat. 'Then and only then will you not interfere with his work.'

All the while, Anne remained cowering in his corner. Weeping softly.


	18. Discreet word

A hand reached out suddenly from the rusted bars of the cell, reaching out and grasping the strolling Mary's sleeve, stopping her. She gasped in surprise, freezing in horror as she looked into the blank face of her confrontier. His face sad, blank. Three faded scars impressioned into his forehead and temples. He did not speak, just looked helplessly into the scared woman.

'Oi, off.' Abberline moved from beside her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her out of the grasp of the soulless prisoner. His fingers flexed, before he whimpered and returned to the dark shadows of his cell. The Inspector pulled her along by the arm, speaking to her in hush. 'Now remember wha' we told the guard. Your his wife visiting 'im and I'm the Inspector makin' sure 'e keeps in line, awright?'

Mary nodded, 'Yes, alright.' She answered quietly. 'Then I'll stay wiv' Anne while you talk to him, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Abberline said firmly as they approached the door. He stopped, letting his hand fall from Mary's wrist. It was so quiet in there, it made his heart pound at what the man on the other side of the door may be thinking. Finally, he took out the key obtained from the guard after much persuasion, and pushed it into the lockhole. With a turn, the door eased open with a long creak. Mary fled in first, rushing to kneel beside Anne and attempting to soothe some comfort into her.

The constable was sitting upon the floor, back to the wall and torso slumped. His head was hung low, dark hair falling over his face and hiding him. Both arms still crossed over his chest in the dirty straightjacket and his boots scuffed from the struggle that was getting there. It scared Abberline that he was just, quietly sitting there. Not even lifting his head to acknowledge the door opening. It made his already hammering heart thump.

'Crane?' He piped, Mary too enthralled with her attention to Anne to acknowledge. The Inspector neared him, dropping to his knees and lowering his voice to near a whisper, letting his head ease close to the slumped constable's. ' .. _Ichabod_?'

The man began to stirr, relief flooding the Inspector as he realised the man was merely sleeping. His head swayed, slowly lifting and eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. With a turn, he found himself face to face with the Inspector. 'Abberline?' He utttered quietly.

'Ye,' He smiled weakly, head still close to the constable and his voice quiet to restrict what was being heard. 'Y'alright?'

'Please, get me out of here.' He pleaded.

'I will, I swear.' Abberline answered fiercly. 'But, it's g'na take time.'

Ichabod's eyes widened, remembering something. 'I don't have time.'

'Look, I know it's 'orrible in 'ere .. '

'_No_, you must believe me. I don't. Have. Time.' Ichabod insisted.

'What are y'talking about?' The Inspector asked in a whisper, then stopping the constable before he could answer. 'Wait a minute, I'm takin' us somewhere more private.'

Grabbing the front of his straightjacket, Abberline assisted Ichabod in the climbing to his feet. Once stood, he began to steer him out of the cell, leaving poor Anne with Mary.

'Where are you taking me?' Ichabod asked.

'Walls have ears, Crane.' Abberline said discreetly, hand on shoulder as he directed the constable down a winding corridor. A guard began to approach them, twirling his club in one hand.

'Oi, oi. What's 'appening 'ere?' He asked firmly.

'Inspector Frederick Abberline, sir.' Abberline quickly cut in. 'This is my prisoner and I am here to question him.'

The guard looked at him skeptically a moment, then gave him a dismissive nod. 'Sorry, sir.'

As the guard casually walked away, the Inspector quickly steered Ichabod into a near cell, closing the door behind him and barring it shut. There was but a table and a chair on either side, light refusing to grace the walls. Ichabod took a moment to glance round, then took a seat. Abberline following, and waiting for him to answer his earlier question.

'Well?' He asked.

The constable's fearful eyes bore into the man. 'They are going to perform a lobotomy.' He lowered his voice. 'On _me_.'

'Your joking?' Abberline gaped. 'Who said this?'

Ichabod frowned in thought, attempting to recall the name. 'Ferral, I think it was. The doctor.'

'I'll kill 'im.'

'That will do nothing,' The constable insisted, taking a moment to blow away a strand of hair hanging infront of his face. Then his face crumpled, his head shaking. 'What am I to do, Abberline? I will not have sense enough to know New York, let alone see my child born.'

His voice heavy, saddened. 'I will be like Anne. Truly vacant.'

'No,' The Inspector spoke suddenly, with determination as he forced Ichabod to look at him, leaning across the table grabbing the front of his straightjacket. 'I'm gettin' you out of 'ere. They ain't g'na nail nothing into y'er head, not as long as I'm around.'

There was a brief pause, Ichabod staring into intently into the Inspector's dark eyes. The man loosening his grip and his face softening, before Ichabod spoke quietly. 'You tried to kiss me.'

Abberline froze, suddenly alarmed. 'What? I .. I don't - '

'Before all this. You tried to kiss me.' He repeated.

The Inspector looked away a moment, speechless. Such an abrupt topic. He turned to look at Ichabod once more, with shame and guilt. 'I'm sorry.'

'I am engaged.'

'I know .. '

'My fiance is pregnant.'

'I _know_ .. '

'And still you tried to kiss me?'

'Will y'let me finish a bloody sentence?' The Inspector spoke quickly. 'I said I was sorry, what more can I do?'

'You can tell me _what _was going through your mind.' Ichabod spoke, shuffling in his seat so as to lean forward and keep their conversation discreet from any wandering guards who may just pass the door.

Abberline shook his head, unable to answer. 'I don't know .. '

'Surely you must have been thinking something .. '

The Inspector hid his face with his fingers, head hung. 'I don't .. '

The constable's voice became desperate. 'Tell _me_, Abberline!'

Abberline slammed his hand down on the table with frustration, head jerking up to look face to face with the man. '_You_! Aw'right?! _You_ were goin' through me mind! Did you hear me? _You_!'

There was a silence. A long, crucifying silence where the constable could only stare at him, confounded and watching him pant deeply in his own frustration before gently repeating, ' .. _You_.'

Ichabod blinked, breathing out at last after his chest could no longer bare the ache of withholding. He rose up from his chair slightly, leaning across the table. Pausing just before the Inspector's face, he let himself linger. Abberline let his eyes fall shut, feeling the tingle of near skin contact. Finally, the constable pressed his lips to Abberline's, the pressing desire overwhelming to them both. The Inspector began by resisting him, near pulling away but knew it was not what he wanted. He rose his hand to sweep the constable's hair from his face, their kiss finally won through the rough and the termoil. Ichabod felt the Inspector's breath stop, something inside him blossoming and making him bold as he dared deepen their kiss, Abberline sliding his fingers through the man's black toussled hair and their mouths touching intimately. Finally, they broke apart. Abberline locking their gaze before standing to his feet and looking down at the constable.

'I'm going t'free you.' He said finally, turning to exit.

'Frederick?' Ichabod's voice said from the table, making the Inspector turn over his shoulder and rest his hand on the door.

'Yes?'

The constable quietened his voice, 'I don't want to see you fall.'

Abberline stayed silent for just a moment, still feeling the tingle of his lips upon his own.

'Then catch me.' He uttered. Finally, he left the room.


	19. Tyrants

Inside the tall, official looking room stood many book laden cases. The carpet was thick and expensive, the walls painted crimson over the wood. Charles Warren sat at his desk, scrawling away at several pieces of paper before there was a abruption. His tall door slamming open furiously and in barged the Inspector.

'And what is it this _time_, Inspector?' Warren sighed, unimpressed.

Abberline stopped in front of his desk, not taking a seat and slamming his palms onto the surface of the desk. He glared down furiously at Warren, 'Your condemning an innocent man!'

'Anything else?' The man muttered, glancing back down to his work and clearly not paying attention.

'Listen t' me, you ignornat _prat_!' Abberline slammed his fists down on the desk, startling the elderly man. 'If y'think I'm g'na let you turn him into a gormless fuck, then you've _really_ got another thing coming!'

Warren's startled exterior faded away, calmness replacing it as he crossed his fingers and looked up at the Inspector. 'Congratulations. You now have my attention.'

'I want t'talk to Dr. Ferral.' Abberline said firmly.

'Dr. Ferral is not here.'

'Then where is he?'

'He is preparing himself.' Warren answered.

The Inspector froze, eyes widening. 'For _what_?'

'He is scheduled to perform a lobotomy this afternoon.'

Abberline instantly reached out, grasping the front of Warren's shirt and pulling him half over the desk. He got right in his face, snarling like a mad man. 'On who?'

'Release me, Inspector!'

'_On who Warren?!_' The man bellowed angrily, giving the official a jerk.

Warren replied reluctantly but only out of fear for his own life, 'One mister Ichabod Crane.'

'You _fucking_ cunts!' Abberline angrily yelled, dropping Warren and turning to march out of the door. 'I swear I'll bring every last one o' you down!'

He slammed the door behind him, leaving an astonished Charles Warren behind. As he charged determined down the corridor, his chest suddenly tightened, stopping him in his tracks and making him clutch his throat. Abberline wheezed in some attempt to join air with lung, and after one almighty cough, he breathed in once more.

Heart pounding, he rested his hand on his chest as he frowned down at the floor. 'Christ .. '

* * *

It was impossible to tell the time of day. The clouds were gathering outside in some heed of bad weather, the tiny window hardly admitting any fresh air from the outside world nor light. Anne stayed ever still, looking blankly at the constable on the other side of the room, who was sitting upon the floor and huddling to himself, still restraint.

'Please stop staring at me.' He politely asked, Anne paying no heed.

'Mrs. Crook, please stop staring at me.' He tried again, feeling uncomfortable under her stare.

'Crooks and crannies, they searched every crook 'n cranny .. ' She mumbled. 'I want this room in pieces, 'e said .. '

Ichabod furrowed his brow at her, listening.

'They took m'prince .. they got m'babe.' Anne continued her rambling. 'Then .. _tap, tap .. tap_.'

Ichabod assumed she was speaking of her husband and child, though deciding to ignore her last statement, 'Who took them?'

'_Tap .. tap.. tap_ .. ' She nodded her head slowly in time.

'What are you doing?'

'_Tap tap tap_.. on my head .. _tap tap tap_ .. on your head .. '

The constable began to become un-nerved, 'Stop .. '

'All I could 'ear .. was bells .. ringin' in m'head. I can still 'ear them .. ' Anne said, not looking at him and out of the tiny window. 'You'll 'ear them too .. when _tap tap .. tap_ .. '

'No!' Ichabod cried desperately, all hope drained from his face. 'I-I don't want to be like you!'

'Like me.. ' Anne repeated with a small, humourless smile on her face.

The constable's soul was crushed, his spirits crestfallen and his whole future seemed dimished. Is this what his life was to be? Sitting opposite a woman who's soul had been drained from her and joining her in incessant ramblings and mumbles?

The cell door then swung open, Doctor Ferral looming in the doorway with two officers stood behind him. 'Time to go, Constable.'

Ichabod looked at him suspiciously, 'Time to go where?'

Ferral smirked, tapping once at his forehead with his finger. 'Time to go.'

The constable jerked bolt upright, eyes wide in alarm. '_No_!'

'Yes.' The doctor smirked darkly, standing aside to reveal a wheeled stretcher in the ward corridor with numerous buckles and straps to restrain its keepsake.

'_Tap .. tap tap_ .. ' Anne muttered quietly, head hung.

Two officers moved past Ferral and seized Ichabod by both sides of his straight jacket, the man struggling to try and free himself. 'You _fiends_! Let go of me! Let go of me at once!'

His furious remarks were paid no attention as he was dragged to his feet, despite his attempts to break free of their grasp on him. Ichabod looked into the face of the smirking Ferral, his own face enraged and his breathing hard.

'You will deny an honest man his mind?' He spat, disgusted. '_Tyrants_. All of you!'

'Sticks and stones, Constable Crane.' The doctor answered, then looked one of the guards seizing him. 'Shut him up.'

With that, one of the guards lifted their clubs and delivered Ichabod a hard and heavy _thwack_ at the back of his head. The fallen constable groaned weakly, then slumped forward. Defeated.

* * *

Outside of Bethlam, a carriage was discreetly parked. Netley jumped from his steering seat, opening the door for his master. The figure lingered inside.

'Tonight shall be quite a show, Netley.' He breathed, then emerging from the carriage. Out stepped William Gull. Smartly attired and set for spectating.


	20. Weighing the balance

**Author's note: I was listening to 'The End of Heartache' by Killswitch Engage and 'Rape Me' by Nirvana while writing this. Had to give these muse-giving songs a mention. Tip, when writing always listen to a song that rocks your world.**

* * *

'_Godley_!'

The sargeant turned whilst mid-way through climbing into his carriage, raising his eyebrows in interest. He saw the Inspector running to him. 'Inspector?'

'Godley, give me a lift!' Abberline gave the man no time to refuse, cutting past him and rushing into the carriage. Godley rolled his eyes as he let him dart past.

'Alright,' He mumbled sarcastically, then climbing in himself and sitting beside the somewhat desperate Inspector. 'Where are we off to, dear friend?'

'Bethlem, Godley! Get me t' Bethlem _now_!'

* * *

As the constable came to, his eyes slowly fluttered open. At first, the brightly lit room made him wince as the sting struck his eyes. When he finally focused, he found himself squinting up at a ceiling. A white ceiling with a single lightbulb handing from the ceiling, the illumiating light spilling in from the wall-tall windows. Memory fogged, he swung his head left and right to try and observe where on earth he was, but found the use of his legs and arms restricted. He tried to move flex his arms to make them move at least a fraction, a concentrated look on his face. But no, when he looked he saw that both his wrists and ankles had been firmly tied to the tabletop he was mounted upon. The table he had seen Ferral wheel into his and Anne's cell earlier. It then all came back to him.

'Oh no,' He uttered, eyes flailing in every direction in panic. 'Oh _no_!'

'Don't struggle, constable.' Ferral smirked, stepping in properly with his hands behind his back. He stopped just before the tied down constable. 'You will only make it worse.'

'You will never get away with this!' Ichabod barked furiously. 'I have a _fiance_, a _ward_, a child yet to be _born_! They will travel here and look for me!'

'Oh, don't fret over that. We have taken care of it.' The doctor replied.

'_We_?' The constable frowned.

William Gull stepped out of the shadow beside the doctor, dressed in a thick black cloak with a crimsoned interior and a top hat ontop of his head. He lifted a letter to his face, reading from it. 'I regret to inform you that Constable Ichabod Crane was deemed mentally unfit and was treated at London Bethlam hospital. His illness was determined due to stress of the case, and we do hope you will understand as well as accept our condolences.'

Ichabod couldn't help but picture Katrina reading this terrible letter, her face crumpling and her anguished cries. As much as it killed him to imagine, there was only one person he was praying to see right now. 'Sir Gull, please do not tell me you are in cahoots with this _fiend_?'

'Dr. Ferral .. and myself, have formed a _disreet_ collaboration.' Gull said, his voice different then his usual friendly greet. It was hoarse, a whisper .. like a rasp.

'Gull, why are you doing this?' The constable exclaimed, 'You are a respected man, a noble to Queen Victoria! Why would you degrade yourself by working with this devil?'

Gull loomed over him, breathing slow and deep, 'Below the skin of history are London's veins. These symbols, the mitre, the pentacle star .. ' He whispered in that hoarse voice, ' .. They pulse, with meaning .. and energy.'

The constable looked up at him, astonished skepticness in his expression. 'What are you saying?'

'I am saying, that_ I_ am that meaning. _I _am that energy.' He answered, 'And neither you, Inspector Abberline or the powers of London's goverment can take that from me. My deeds are weighed by The Great Architect. Not men of vain power who fret only for their skin and the skin of the city's female filth.'

'Female filth?' Ichabod questioned, frowning with concentrating. Then realising a key point. '_Prostitutes .. '_

'The whores that degrade our society, constable.' Ferral said darkly, to which the constable ignored and continued to stare into Gull's black eyes. A far cry from his usual blue.

'Why did you tell me this?' Ichabod asked carefully.

'Because in no time at all, constable. You shall be none the wiser.' He answered, turning to leave and his cloak spilling out behind him. 'You do not belong in my legacy, you cannot be left to wonder.'

The restrained man attempted to sit up with great effort but was forced back down, 'Gull! Come back here!' He called, but the man had already left.

'_Gull_!' He tried one final time, but saw his cries fruitless and let his head slump, hope lost. Ferral smirked over him.

'Would you like to see the tool I shall be using?' Waiting for no answer, the doctor retrieved a peculiar tool from atop the near surface. He held it delicately in his fingers, looking down at it lovingly as if it were a precious child. 'Amazing contraption. A personal favourite.'

'It is _you_ who is mad.' Ichabod snarled, the doctor ignoring him and proceeding to push the wheeled table, grasping the handles in his hands.

'Stop struggling.' Ferral insisted as he pushed the stretcher along on its wheels, the strapped constable writhing in his binds.

'I will struggle as I will!' The constable barked back at him, desperate to release himself. Time was running short, Ferral was already wheeling him into the spectating room where a crowd would gather round him and watch at this mad doctor robbed him of his mind and free will.

'Well, alright then. In an hour or so it won't matter. You shall be sitting quiet and still,' He said, slowing his pace and the pace of the stretcher, just to revel in the man's torment. ' .. Like a _mouse_.'

'_I'll_ give you a fuckin' _mouse_,' A sudden voice with a heavy London accent growled from behind Ferral, making the doctor freeze. There was a rolling click, and then a loud _bang_!

'_Abberline_?' Ichabod gaped, watching as Ferral collapsed to the floor and gasped in pain. As the man fell, Abberline was revealed. Smoking gun in hand.

'Thank _Christ_ I got 'ere when I did,' The Inspector rushed over to the strapped constable, looking down at him. 'Y'alright?'

'Yes, I'm alright,' Ichabod breathed with relief, then hearing the agonised groans coming from the lower floor.

'Oh _god_, you'll regret that, Inspector!' Ferral cried from the floor, cradling his wounded leg which was soaking blood. Said Inspector was ignoring the wounded man, unbuckling Ichabod's binds frantically, which angered Ferral. '_Guards_!' He hollared.

As the constable swung his legs over the side of the stretcher, two able bodied guards rushed in. Ferrel still collapsed on the floor and whimpering in pain.

'The Inspector shot me and is trying to kidnap my patient! _Get_ him!' He ordered, the two man jumping to attention.

'Quickly!' Ichabod jumped to action, grasping the Inspector by the arm and rushing in the opposite direction. He clutched his arm, desperate not to loose him. The two guards tore after them, unsheathing their clubs and yelling menacingly as Ferral lay anguished in a bloody pool.

'Where are w'_going_?' Abberline threw in.

'Anywhere but here!' Ichabod answered back sharply, squinting a head. They were fast approaching a door, a double door which would lead to the operating room should they enter. They both stopped abrupt, Ichabod looked to Abberline with horror.

'We're trapped,' He released with a shallow breath, then looking to the door that would seal his fate should he step through. Abberline was lost for words or actions, looking at the advancing guards who had dark smirks upon their faces. Feeling lost for cause, the Inspector reached his hand over to Ichabod's, threading his fingers between his and feeling them tremble. Their palms pressed together, the two feeling eachother's pulses rapidly thumping. Synced.

'I'm sorry, Ichabod .. ' Abberline uttered as they tensed, flinching their eyes shut hand in hand as they waited for their almighty beating. And they waited longer. Longer still. Finally, the Inspector dared squint one eye open. His eyes searched for two almighty guards before him, but all he saw was a full-figured man, branishing a club so thick it shamed any he had ever seen.

'Godley!' Abberline exclaimed, face lighting up and his grip of the constable's fingers that bit tighter. Ichabod, himself, opened both eyes and glanced to the floor, seeing two fallen guards. Unconcious after a clear clubbing.

'Wonderful to see you, boys.' The sargeant beamed, slipping his club back into his belt. He grinned to his colleagues for a moment, before his glance fell down to their clinging hands. 'Am I right then? _Now join your hands, and with your hands your hearts_?'

The two looked at Godley with slight confusion at first, then looked to each other, then looked down at their embracing hands. Their glance maintained, remembering each other's pulses. The pulsing beats of each other's souls, the sweet taste of each other's lips. Abberline snatched his own hand away at the thought, heart becoming excited. Ichabod's hand was left alone, lingering then returning to his side while both men remained bashfully silent at the sargeant's question.

The sargeant just rolled his eyes with a grin, 'Go on, get gone.'

Abberline smirked, 'Godley I could kiss you.'

'Later, Inspector.' Godley stood aside, clearing the way. 'Cut along now.'

The Inspector took a moment to exchange grateful smirks with his companion, then taking Ichabod by the wrist and pulling him down the corridor. They turned a corner, and were out of sight. The sargeant looked on after them in yonder direction, then sighed and entered through the double doors, the silenced crowd errupting into chatter.

'Now, now!' Godley announced, flapping his hands to hush the audience who had indeed been expecting a man to be wheeled in. 'Dr. Ferral shall _not_ be operating tonight!'

The crowd was clearly displeased, uttering to each other with frowns on their faces. Some even stood and threw abusive words to Godley, which he stood firm and took for the sake of his companions, giving them as much time and distance as he could. Meanwhile, Gull remained in the back of the audience. Face twisted with rage and frustration, fuming from his core. He waited, then stood up and exited the crowded room.

* * *

The barred door burst open, both Inspector and Constable spilling out. They panted heavily for breath, stopping to inhale the brisk outside air. The feel of freewill wonderful on the constable's body, he relished in the ability to be able to move his arms and legs for a moment. He then straightened upright, looking to the Inspector.

'Thank you,' He said at last, breathless.

The Inspector nodded, teasing a slight smile. 'N'problem.'

'No,' The constable shook his head. '_Thank you_, Inspector.'

No description of accomplishment and fulfillment could define what was making Abberline's heart thump so hard. He simply stepped toward the man, no expression on his face but his eyes fallen closed as if in a dreamless sleep. Lifting his arms, he wound them around the constable, pulling him into a close, meaningful embrace. He released a deep sigh, burying his face into Ichabod's neck and clinging to him. The thought of maybe loosing him to the tedious men of society and drudgery that was the Ripper case making him cling that bit harder. The constable held him back warmly, hands pressing him close.

Until they heard the not too distant sound of a gun barrel loading, the shaking breathing of a man. Both Ichabod and Abberline pulled away slightly, looking at each other with furrows on their faces then breaking apart fully, turning to see Netley before them, having stepped out from what seemed to be nowhere. He was shakily aiming a gun at them.

'Who the fuckin 'ell are you?' Abberline stepped back, glaring at the gun. Ichabod doing the same.

'I .. I 'as to .. ' He looked to Ichabod with fear in his face, tears tracking down his cheeks. 'He got away .. '

'Thanks to you, Inspector.' A cloaked figure phased out of the shadows just behind Netley. Top-hatted and eyes a devilish black.

'Sir William .. ' The Inspector breathed, surprisingly un-surprised. Secretly, he had suffered inklings but kept them to himself. Now all he could feel was a bitter anger that Gull had attempted to do away with the constable in such a malicious fashion.

'Devious scum,' Ichabod muttered, frowning shamelessly at the man but keeping at a careful distance.

'Scum.' Gull breathed. 'You will brand me _scum_ but will happily cavort, fraternize .. and _embrace _.. a man who so pleases in indulging in such an act of letting opium be his second-air?'

Abberline lit his tongue down, staying silent as Gull continued. 'Though, I could not resist my first attempt be tied with your use of opium. Even if it did result in failure.'

The two lawmen looked to each other in shock, then looked to Gull. That night, at the ball. It all made sense.

'You .. ' Ichabod glared at Netley, recalling the lower half of his face. The top having being hidden by his top-hat that night in Buckingham palace. The very body that had offered him that near-fatal drink.

Meanwhile, Abberline was looking to Gull. 'You 'ad your man 'ere poison Crane .. and made me think it was me.' He said, seething. 'You put me through hell. Makin' me think that my ways nearly 'ad a man killed.'

His face twisted with disgust, 'You bast'id.'

'I have no more to say, Inspector. I doubt you do either.' Gull's voice a quiet snarl, he lifted his hand and placed it upon Netley's shoulder. 'Now, Netley.'

Netley's trembling aim became greatly exaggerated, 'Sir, I .. I don't know if I can .. '

'They are all that stands in our way, Netley .. my prophecy .. my legacy .. must be fulfilled,' He breathed, tightening his grip on Netley's shoulder.

Netley let out a scared whimper, his aim flying in every direction as he could not contain his trembling. The Inspector and Constable's hands had found each other once more, clasping tightly as they boldly awaited whatever was to come though inside their chests their hearts hammered heavily. Netley squeezed his eyes shut, teeth gritted.

'I .. I'm just a simple chap, sir .. !' He whimpered.

There was then a loud _bang_ from the gun.


	21. Hell

Their arms trembled as their fingers were tightly entwined, Ichabod slamming his eyes shut and turning his head away as he heard the ringing blast of gunfire. Netley whimpered as his shaking fingers dropped the weapon like it were lit by hellfire and red-hot. It clattered to the floor, Abberline staring ahead and waiting for the death cry of the body that had received the bullet.

Netley's lips trembled as he spoke, staring at his victim with sorrow and remorse, 'I-I'm sorry, sir!'

Gull's face was expressionless, but his eyes trepidated and tormented. His brilliant white shirt began to soak from the chest around, bleaching a deep crimson red. He rose a hand to his wounded chest, finally inhaling a hollow, wheezing breath as he collapsed onto his knees, his top hat falling from his hat. His legacy lost, his prochecy only half-fulfilled.

He looked up to Netley, struggling for breath. 'R-Remember .. where we are, Netley .. '

The man was weeping uncontrollably, voice a whimper, 'Where are we, sir?'

'Hell,' He choked out, a line of blood running down his chin. The elderly man looked to Ichabod and Abberline, glaring at scornfully then looking like he was realising something great, ' .. We are in Hell.'

With that, Gull slumped forward without another breath left in him. Lying in a pool of his own spilled blood. A cessation of an era. Netley stooped, picking up his master's hat and holding it to his own chest, bowing his head as if to mourn. He then looked up to the two remaining men.

'I'm just a simple chap.' He repeated, then stepped toward Abberline. He held the Ripper's hat to him, offering it. The Inspector hesitated at first.

'Please, take it.' Netley pleaded quietly, to which the Inspector reached his hand that was not occupied forward and took the top-hat carefully. They watched as Netley began to back away, tipping his own tattered hat to them.

'Goodnight, sirs.' He said, turning and walking away. Finally, he disappeared into the dark of the night. The Inspector and Constable remained silently shocked, deciding not to take after him and just let him go. Abberline began to slip his fingers from the two hands tight grasp, which snapped Ichabod back to life. His own fingers refusing to release him.

'No,' He begged, 'Hold onto me.'

The Inspector looked at him for a moment, fingers frozen in place and stubbornly clung by the constable. 'Alright,' He answered quietly.

Despite this, he tugged his hand free nonetheless. But almost immediatly after doing so, he lifted his arm and wound it round Ichabod's neck, caressing the back of his head in his hand. The constable did what came naturally, winding both arms round the Inspector's torso and clutching him close.

'Joys in anothers loss of ease, and builds a hell in heavens despite,' Ichabod quietly muttered into Abberline's hair, the man turning his head slightly after hearing the verse.

'What was that?' He asked quietly.

'The Clod and the Pebble. William Blake, 1789.' Ichabod replied, speaking the poetic words for that was what he was thinking. To gain joy of this loss, the murders grinding to a halt. And if nothing else, at the very least here they were. In each other's arms.

* * *

'So y'see, sir. You were being deceived.' The Inspector completed his pitch to Charles Warren, who looked astounded.

'I .. I simply cannot believe my ears.' Warren exclaimed, 'Dr. Ferral did not strike me a man of such deceit.'

'You'd be surprised at what is be'ind a closed door, sir.' He answered.

'What amazes, and shocks me more is that Sir Gull is a man of malicious intent!'

'Was, a man of malicious intent, sir. _Was_.'

'He is dead?'

'Yessir.'

'And may hell keep him,' Warren grimanced, disgusted. 'But, other then that. I offer you a congratulations, Inspector. The Ripper case is solved.'

'I accept it, sir.' The official had offered his hand to the Inspector, which he promptly shook then released.

'I would also like to offer my apologies to Constable Crane,' Warren continued, remorseful. 'Sending him to Bethlam .. '

'I shall alert him of y'r apology.'

'Well then,' Warren beamed, lowering his hand. 'The constable can now return to New York when he wishes.'

Abberline's heart nearly stopped, the thought he had forgotton. 'Return to New York?' He repeated without really thinking about it.

'Why yes,' The official confirmed. 'His duty here is fulfilled and I see no reason for him to stay, Inspector.'

Seeing Abberline's uncomfortable expression and somewhat crushed exterior, Warren narrowed his eyes on him. 'Unless you can give me a reason, Inspector?'

Abberline hesitated, half-convinced that if he shared his feelings with Warren it would make it so that Ichabod had to stay, but knewin his logic it would not work. Before he could answer, a familiar tightening feeling came over his chest. It made him lunge forward, leaning on Warren's desk before the startled man. The Inspector's eyes bulged as his mouth fell open, dryly gasping.

'_Inspector_?' Warren said urgently, raising from his seat and delivering Abberline a sharp slap a upon his back. He jerked forward, watering eyes blinking back tears of pain as air finally flooded into his lungs. The man rubbed at his chest, a wince on his face as he panted.

'T-Thank y', sir .. ' He gasped.

'Are you ill, Inspector?' Warren question.

'G'day, Sir Warren.' Abberline quickly choked, turning and leaving.


	22. Peace sets in

A balding man wearing a small cloth pouch on his belt knocked on the Inn door, waiting cautiously outside as he called into the room. 'S'cuse me, const'ble .. but yer payments due .. '

Ichabod was inside the room, standing in its centre and looking down thoughtfully at an item in his hands. Between his fingers he span a disc, a cage on one side and a cardinal on the other. He looked down at the illusion, mesmerised and near not hearing the man outside his door.

'Const'ble?' He called again, this time Ichabod's head perking and a surprised look on his face.

'I'm coming,' He stammered, tucking the spinner sloppily into his inner pocket, the string hanging loose from his pocket as he took toward the door and eased it open. There stood the Inn-keeper, the man who owned the building where the constable had been staying since he arrived in London. The man waited awkwardly for his payment.

'Oh, right.' The constable, suddenly realising, hastily plunging his hand into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a handful of coins. 'Will this be quite enough?'

'I reckon, const'ble.' The man accepted the coins as they were tipped into his thick palm, scuffing at the back of his neck. 'Oh, and there's someone downstairs t'see ye.'

Ichabod looked up. 'Who is it?'

'A lady, sir. Downstairs, wiv' a babe in her arms.' The man answered, then turning to pace away. The constable looked confused, the only person he could think of that fit into that criteria would be Katrina, though he was quiet convinced that she surely could not of had the baby yet. He had been gone several months of course, but it was far too early. Wasn't it?

Ichabod took from his room, closing the door behind him and stepping quickly down the staircase. As soon as his feet touched the floor, his eyes darted every inch of the room. They soon found a feminine figure who had her back to him, clutching something in her arms and her head hooded, hiding her.

He took a step forward, swallowing. 'Hello?' Ichabod said carefully, nearing the woman. She turned instantly, her face shadowed. Trading the bundled child into one arm she lowered her hood, revealing her head. Flame red locks falling about her shoulders and her blue eyes shining with delight.

'Mary!' The constable exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. She rushed to him, wrapping her arm round his shoulders and pulling him in for a gentle hug. Ichabod patted her back lightly, somewhat relieved. As guilty as it made him feel, he was pleased that it was not Katrina that had come to see him. Not when he harboured a secret desire that would destroy her.

'I'll remember this for the rest of m'days,' She smiled, pulling away and her eyes watering. Her hand rested on the side of his pale face. 'I don't 'ave to worry about no Ripper no more, and bloody 'ell it feels good.'

'Your very welcome,' The constable offered a slight grin, glancing down at the child in her arms. He looked surprised. 'Mary, I was not aware that you had .. '

'Oh, I don't constable.' She smiled, beaming down at the baby wrapped in a white blanket. 'This is Alice, who I was tellin' you about. Just fetched in from the orphanage.'

Ichabod looked intently at the little girl, who was sound asleep. Her plump, pretty face relaxed. 'This is Anne Crook's daughter.'

'Ye',' Mary agreed quietly, rocking the child slightly. 'But .. _I'm_ g'na be her mother now.'

The constable thought a moment, then nodded in acceptance. 'I see.'

Mary struggled with her next words, revealing them quietly. 'And I came t'say goodbye.'

'Goodbye?'

The woman nodded, lifting her hood back over her head. 'Th' Nicholls are still about, constable, me an' Alice need a better life. I ain't got nothin' left here anymore, so I'm goin' back to Ireland.' She stopped, smiling a little. 'Live out the rest of m'days in this little cottage by the sea where I grew up.'

Ichabod nodded slowly, but could not hide his surprise. 'Have you .. have you _told_ Abberline?'

'No, not yet.' Her smile broadened. 'I'm .. I'm gonna ask him to come with me. Me an' Alice, be a real family.'

She continued, 'I left 'im a letter at the Ten Bells, tellin' him where to go and .. and .. ' Mary's smile began a little coy, ' .. How much I _love_ him.'

Ichabod could not bear to look at her smiling face, but at the same time did not dare to look away. Oh, how naive she was. He couldn't quite bring himself to let her know about himself and the Inspector. She seemed to upspirited to be brought back down to earth with a crashing thud now. Possibly the happiest she had been in a long while. He remained silent, the smiling Mary glancing behind her out of the door. A carriage pulling up.

'Well, there's me lift.' Her eyes watered, clutching baby Alice to her.

'Yes, there it is.' Ichabod muttered quietly under his breath, still looking at her. The woman's beaming lips shook as the tears of happiness began to fall, reaching forward with one arm and embracing the constable in one farewell hug.

'G'bye, constable. And thank you.' Mary uttered, holding onto him for just a moment then pulling away.

'Good luck, Miss Kelly.' Ichabod offered, watching her as she began to edge away. She glanced over her shoulder, smirking.

'Mary, constable. _Mary_.' Her smirk faded, a gentle smile replacing it. 'Goodbye.'

'Farewell.'

And then, she was gone.


	23. A beautiful reality

_'I know you asked me to wait. If I'm to be murdered, I'd like at least to die in my village. I'm going to the orphanage to collect baby Alice. Here's an address where you can find us. We'll wait for you eagerly. I know in my heart we can be happy living by the sea. Just as you saw. I hope to be with you soon, dearest. All my love, Mary.'_

The Inspector slowly paced away from the Ten Bells, holding the letter and reading over it again and again. He wasn't sure how to feel. Should he feel pleased that Mary had gotten herself to safety, or should he feel disheartened because he knew he would miss her?

It seemed a hollow choice. Mary was only a free woman as long as he remained in London .. and then there was Ichabod. Mary didn't know and she couldn't know, for all their sakes. The man had a family back in New York, the Inspector questioning whether he could really deny the man's fiance a husband and his unborn child a father merely for his own petty feelings. But Abberline couldn't recall the last time he wanted something more, that desire to be with someone. How unfairly starcrossed their love was.

* * *

It may well have been the first time since his visit the constable had seen London's sky shine a bright shade of blue, different to its usual crimson angry sky. Perhaps the city knew that it was rid of one of its most ruthless villains and decided to celebrate by painting itself a more uplifting shade. Perhaps.

The constable was slowly walking along a stone path between patches of bold green grass, trees and plants in bloom surrounding. The park of London deciding today it would be beautiful. Again he had in his company the toy that once belonged to his mother, the cardinal disk. He stared straight ahead of him as he span, thinking of all the fantastic and horrific ordeals he had stumbled through over the past few months in Whitechapel.

'Constable,' A male voice from behind him said, stopping him in place. The man turned, already knowing in his mind who it was.

'Inspector,' He replied, turning fully. Abberline looked down at the peculiar object in his fingers.

'What's that?' He asked politely.

'In honesty I am not sure what it is called, but I know it delivers an optical illusion of sorts.' Ichabod answered, holding it up. 'Now, watch.'

He held the long string straight and began to spin with the tips of his fingers, the cardinal and cage merging into one. The Inspector watched, nodding a little. 'Very nice, Crane. Where'd y'get that?'

'It was my mother's.' Ichabod replied, ceasing the spinning of the disc now and lowering both hands. 'I have kept it for her.'

Abberline nodded once again, 'She must be lookin' forward to when you return to New York .. '

The constable looked to him, expression softly downtrotten. 'Oh, _no_. Not really.'

The Inspector waited.

'She died young,' He explained, voice quiet. 'I keep it for her, in her memory.'

Abberline reached forward and patted his shoulder to symathise, to which Ichabod raised his hand and rested it on his wrist. The Inspector's hand staying. 'What did you come here to say, Abberline?'

He felt that struggle again, that struggle to muster words that he knew he didn't want to say but couldn't be buried. 'Mary's gone.'

'I know.' The constable released his wrist.

'You _know_?' Abberline lowered his hand from the man's shoulder.

'Yes,' He nodded, 'She came to say goodbye before she left for Ireland.'

'Well,' The Inspector pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket. 'She .. she wants me to go wiv' her.'

Ichabod looked down, not wanting to hear what he may hear within the next few moments. 'What is it you _want_?'

'I don't know,' Abberline replied quickly. 'I want to help Mary, I care for 'er so much. But .. I don't_ love_ 'er. Not as much as I love another.. '

The Inspector then landed against the constable like a force of nature, cupping his face with both hands and feeling his wild black hair between his fingers. Trapping him into passionate necking without caring who should see. Ichabod was complient, hands spreading over Abberline's back, roving and indulging in what would be their final interval of tenderness.

Finally he broke away, locking the man into an embrace and whispering into his hair, 'You should go to her.'

'I know.' Abberline whispered, breathless as he held the constable back. 'You have a life, I can't ruin it.'

'You never ruined it,' Ichabod quietly uttered back, pulling away and looking into his face intently. 'I will always hone the knowledge that meeting Inspector Frederick Abberline was never a dream, but a beautiful reality.'

The Inspector did not answer, just sniffing as he fought back snatching him away and never returning him to the world. It was so tempting, just a life of two. Abberline reached forward and held onto him for one final time.

He knew what to do now.


	24. Always his

This was agony.

Ichabod stared down at the barely packed case on his bed, articles of clothing strewn across the bed and a number of his notes scattered. He felt he needed to _place_ the items into his case, but whenever he went to reach for a possesion his heart would deliver itself an almighty stab. It was like every item that was packed was a step closer to returning to New York and a step furthur away from what he pined for. It made him feel bitter towards himself. What he should be doing is throwing his belongings into his case, jumping into a carriage and leaving London without so much as a backward glance to be with his future wife, Masbeth and his unborn son or daughter. But it wasn't where his mind was. His mind was stubbornly on the Inspector. Agonising over his decision to part with him.

'God forgive me and my distracted mind,' He muttered to himself, letting his eyes fall closed and then truly questioning why he was praying for forgiveness. Was it because he had betrayed Katrina by loving another? Or was it because he had chosen to leave he who loved him?

'_Damn_ it all!' The constable cried out, frustrated as he lunged his arms out and swept his suitcase off of the bed, it landing to the floor with a clatter. The few items flying out and lying motionless. He stood, breathing deep as he attempted to contain himself. Was it really possible to live under such misleading pretence for the rest of one's life knowing that he was masking his true feelings because of his own self righteousness? It was both selfish and un-selfish all at once.

Ichabod released a deep exhale, sitting himself upon his bed and resting his head in his hands. If he was to leave London, he did not want to leave feeling this was. Though the tormented man had little choice in the matter. But there was a way to ease his pain even that bit slightly, he needed to see him again. Bid him a final adieu and wish him the most prosperous future, seal the ever-lasting keepsake they had both gained from this case. An undying love.

* * *

The musky den remained ever-present below the streets of London, much to the sargeant's disgust. He began to pace down the steps, shaking his head and cursing to himself. Of all the places the Inspector needed to be, this was the last. The man needed to seek contentment and release the pressure that had built up in him, not clog up his pipes with the thick auroma of opium laced smoke.

Godley's feet finally met the floor, his eyes scanning left to right. The same drivel. Asians bringing their customers long-piped instruments and allowing men to lie in a drunken-like stupors. The sargeant shook his head once more, prompting marching forward to where _he_ usually was. Surely enough, the Inspector was indeed indulging in the act of the men alike. Lying face up after no doubt a dose of his guilty pleasure. Eyes closed.

'Get up.' The sargeant said, the words over-used at this point. Abberline did not even stir.

'Come on, Abberline. Get _up_.' He said again, firmer as he stooped slightly and shook the man at the arm. Waiting, he kept a watchful eye for any signs of movement. For a minute or so, nothing. Then the Inspector's lips gave a slight muster as his brow furrowed.

'_Mmm_ .. mm?' He mumbled from the throat, not opening his eyes but knowing who was there.

'You heard, up you get.' Godley prompted, clapping his hands together quickly to signify haste.

'Godley ..,' Abberline reached a hand up, fingers trembling then coiling to beckon him to his level. Eyes half-open in a frown. 'I .. I want y'to do somethin' .. '

The sargeant decided to stop to his level, listening. 'If it'll get you up any faster .. '

Abberline ignored him, tucking his hand into his pocket and finickly retrieving a scrunched up note. A letter of his own, he weakly held it up to Godley. 'Give it .. t'him .. '

'Give it to who?' Godley asked, taking the crumpled paper in his fingers and letting the thought of dragging the man out slowly slip.

'Y'know who,' The Inspector uttered, letting his brow relax. 'And, .. and tell him .. '

The sargeant's voice softened, becoming genuine. 'What, Inspector?'

'Tell him .. ' He began, his lips shaking as his eyes began to blur with morose and disconsolence. His voice, and heart, forlorn as his face crumpled, a single tear leaving its track down its cheek, ' .. Tell him I was always his.'

Godley's face fell, heart beginning to thump as he clutched at the letter. 'Abberline .. '

'_Please_, Godley. Tell 'im.' Abberline pleaded.

The sargeant swallowed, nodding reluctantly. ' .. Alright, Inspector. I'll tell him .. '

The Inspector's face then relaxed from its sudden frustration, letting himself sink into the long couch. His tense fingers relaxed, chest rising and falling and his eyes slowly falling closed as his voice reduced to no more then a whisper. 'Good .. ' He breathed, so quietly. ' .. _Good_ .. '

His furrowed brow released and his face became serene, expressionless. Abberline's chest rose with a soft breath, then fell. It did not rise again. Godley stared, blinking back as he felt the sorrow begin to prick and prod at him. Fighting back his own stubborn tears from falling, he reached forward and took a hold of the Inspector's motionless fingers, other hand clutching the given note.

'Goodnight, sweet prince.'


	25. Not goodbye

London had suddenly become a lonely place. Mary had left for Ireland, her friend's all murdered, Anne was still ever of little use back at Bethlam and the Inspector was nowhere to be found. Ichabod had been scouring the streets of London all day, looking for not only Abberline but at the very least a familiar face. He found himself in Whitechapel Road, looking in every direction and scanning every face. No familiarities. The constable stood, face crushed and his eyes desperately wandering - not only did he feel totally isolated but he was considering where else the Inspector could possibly be. There was so much that he wanted to say, that he wanted him to know.

'Constable,' A deep voice from behind said, patting him on the shoulder to gain his attention, but it only made him jump with fright. He turned instantly, beholding the sargeant.

'Oh, sargeant .. ' Ichabod sagged with relief, finally a face he knew. 'Can I help you?'

'Actually, constable .. ' The man's voice was quiet, and his head low as he sniffed deeply. His hand plunged into his pocket, retrieving a rumpled piece of paper and holding it out to the constable. ' .. I came to give you this.'

Ichabod's brow furrowed in confusion, looking down at the note creased in Godley's fingers. He swallowed, then took a hold of it. 'What is it?'

'It is what it is.' The sargeant replied simply, releasing the letter and beginning to turn. He began to walk, then turned over his shoulder and looked to Ichabod. 'And constable?'

He looked up from the note in his hand, 'Yes?'

'He wanted me to tell you,' Godley began, voice shaking. ' .. You were always his.'

The sargeant couldn't stand to keep his face calm any longer and so he he lifted his fingers over his face to hide it. But nonetheless he stayed where he was. Ichabod looked at him, Then his eyes fell down the note, scrunched in his palm. He slowly smoothed it straight with, studying the scrawled words.

_'Constable,_

_If you're reading this, then I've made my choice. I couldn't imagine meself living the rest of me life knowing that I couldn't goto Mary for 'er own good, and that I couldn't goto you because you already 'ave your life. If I'd 'ave chosen otherwise, I'd 'ave probably gone mad. I never told y'this, constable .. but I 'ad a wife once. Victoria, 'er name was. Loved 'er with all me heart, and we were g'na have a child too. Just like you and y'r fiance. A rosy future, it was lookin' out t'be. Only when she passed along with our son did I choose t'not suffer the pain of loosing someone I loved by loving again._

_Then one fine day you rolled into London in that carriage o'yers. I'll be honest, I thought you were the prat of the hour when I met ye'. A fella that could stomach performing autopsies but couldn't stay on 'is feet when it came to observing mutilated corpses. That night when y'collapsed in Buckingham, know I was terrified. I was so scared that y'wouldn't wake up. So scared that it was me that killed you. Only then did I realise how much y'meant to me._

_So, please understand. For me, there is no living without you. So I'll wait. I'll wait forever and a day if I 'ave to, until we can meet again in the spirit world. Live yer life, constable. Get married, enjoy fatherhood. And we'll meet again, some day._

_Frederick,'_

As Ichabod's almost black eyes carefully drew over the page, his heart began to hammer hard inside him. Fear and panic growing as he got furthur and futhur down. His eyes widened, shaking his head in disbelief as he lowered the letter and stared wildly at Godley. The constable's fingers released the note, letting it flutter the floor. There was a blank silence, all that was heard was Ichabod's hard breathing. Then, suddenly the young man grabbed for his belt, pulling out his pistol and pushing it up under his chin, finger going for the trigger.

'Constable, _stop_!' Godley cried suddenly, lunging forward and wrestling Ichabod for gun. They struggled, the sargeant trying to pry the pistol from him.

'_Let me be, Godley_!' Ichabod shrieked, trying with great effort to pull to pistol back toward him.

'Don't be a bloody fool!' The sargeant barked, winning the war as he threw the pistol from the young man's fingers. It clattered to the floor, Godley seizing Ichabod by the shoulders to prevent him lunging for it. Though, the constable submitted to standing still, looking helplessly down at the gun as he breathed hard.

'I needed to talk to him,' Ichabod's voice came out choked, eyes brimming. 'I wanted to see him.'

'I know you did,' Godley said, sympathetic but firm as he released his shoulders. 'But blowing yer head off won't help you. Your going to leave your fiance without a husband and your child without a father, is that it?'

The constable's quivering face held back it's tears, lips shaking as he slowly shook his head. He hated to agree that Godley was right. 'No,'

Ichabod's blurred eyes looked to Godley, 'Take me to him.'

'Constable .. '

'Take me to him _now_!'

* * *

This was a visit the constable had never hoped to make again, the morgue. Quite the few times he had been made to grace the place but this time was entirely different, this time he had chosen to go there. Godley placed a hand on his shoulder as they approached a sheeted body lay upon a surface, silent and still.

'Here he is,' The sargeant said, lowering his head respectively and struggling not to whimper into sobs again. He waited for the constable to respond, but when he looked to the man he was as silent as the Inspector, staring down at the sheet with a truly lost look upon his pale face.

Ichabod's fingers flexed forward, trembling as they touched at the white sheet, taking a fold in his hand. He waited, then flung the sheet back as he could no longer bear the tension. His face drew a blank, his eyes studying. There he was. Wearing his usual clothes and his hands crossed over his stomach, looking merely as if he were resting from a hard day. The colour was still in his face, rosed and peaceful. The constable brushed a finger against Abberline's hand, so different this time. He remember in their moment of fright when they had clasped each other's hands, there was warmth - and a pulse. The Inspector's fingers were so cold this time, no beat of a lively pulse. Perfectly still.

A tear fell from Ichabod's dark eye as he stooped, his head to the Inspector's level. Grasping his deathly cold fingers, he leaned forward and left one soft, last kiss on Abberline's forehead. Letting himself be close to the Inspector's face one final time, he felt his hair against his skin as he brushed near his deafened ear.

'Until we meet again.' Ichabod whispered.


	26. Final chapter

The journey back to New York stretched on to forever. The whole of the way, Ichabod stared out of the window at the world passing him by. Not once did he drift into sleep in the carriage as he usual did, just glaring out of the window. Every tree and building stretched by, seeming to loom over him. Sometimes he would not focus on what was outside, but on his reflection in the glass. His face tired, worn and his eyes a sharp red - from all the exhaustion, all the choked out sobs. He had kept the letter, of course. The only material piece of Inspector Frederick Abberline he had left of him, the rest was just memories that he would surely never forget. From the day they met, to the day they parted.

A dignified, stately house came to view through the carriage window. Ichabod recognised this as his home, a female silhouette lingering behind an upper floor window. Katrina watched from inside, eagerly squinting to the carriage that was pulling up with dear hopes. Her face lit up when she caught sight of what was a pale faced man with a concentrated expression and a mop of black hair. A bright smile swept across her face, reaching a hand to excitedly cradle her vaster stomach. Bulked after the many months. She wore a radiant white, long and loose dress and her blonde, ringletted hair fell over her shoulders and down her back. Her pale cheeks a rosed colour. The lady rushed as fast her she would allow herself, stepping down the stairs as she fled to meet her beloved. As she met the cool, brisk New York air just past the door, Ichabod stepped out of the carriage. He kept his head low at first, telling himself to force a smile - for she could not know. She could _never_ know.

'Ichabod,' Her soft voice called from the doorway, simply assuming he had not noticed her as she found herself to still be smiling at his back. The wind picking up her flowing hair and the tips of her bright dress. The constable took a deep breath, turning painfully and willing himself to return her welcoming smile when their gaze met. And as Katrina rushed to him and flew into his arms, Ichabod looked up at the sky, watching the clouds gather slowly as if by heaven's will.

_Your mine, Abberline._ He thought as Katrina embraced him, _Your really mine._

* * *

A petite cottage stood on a hilled land beside a sea, the waves breaking upon the bank. The day was clear and brightly lit, the sun generous and the sky clear. A little girl with the fairest hair and a ragdoll tucked under her arm hummed as she skipped along the bank, the water touching her shoes.

'Alice!' Mary called, emerging from inside the cottage doorway and draping a shawl around her shoulders. 'Alice, come here darlin'!'

The little girl glanced up, hugging at her doll as she stepped up the grassed hill. 'Coming mother!'

The matured lady looked to the child with a pure love, her face delicate and gentle and her fiery hair reflecting the daylight. As Alice approached her, she wrapped her arm around the girl and lead her into the cottage. Every day she told herself he would come, and they would live happily by the sea. As he had seen. One day.

* * *

It had been a number of years now since the day the Ripper case had been solved. Ichabod had kept true to his silence throughout as he had married Katrina, went through his day to day duties and watched his child be born. Not once did he let the Inspector escape his thoughts, often slipping into a long pensive stupor. Though he tried to allow himself to slip into his life's role, he could not let himself forget his spell in London all those years ago.

Snowflakes fluttered from the sky outside the window, lying on the streets of New York and slowly building a white wonderland in the dim dark that was the night. Behind the glass, stood the constable. Candle plate in hand and it's wick flickering away with a dancing flame. He approached a chest of drawers in his work room, the very place where it was his own sanctum. Where he kept his tools and notes of practice. Letting the plated candle rest on the wooden surface, he let his fingers fall to the drawer handle and slowly ease it open. Inside the gradually opening door, lay the very note. It was more worn now, rumpled and creased after the passing slowly began to impair its quality. He would always keep it though, his only memoir of Abberline's final thoughts before he passed into the afterlife.

'Father,' There was a gentle knock at the door before it eased open, a young boy stepping in. A young boy with a mop of brownish dark hair that touched his shoulders and fair skin, his dark eyes stubbornly neglecting to let light reflect. 'Dinner is ready.'

Ichabod kept his back to the boy at first, discreetly pressing the drawer closed. When he turned, he wore a casual grin on his face as he looked to his son. 'So it is.'

He began to step toward him so they may continue onward, but the boy had his fascinated eye on a pair of rimmed spectables lying on a surface near him. He reached a hand toward it, letting his fingertips curiously brush. 'What are these, father?'

Ichabod followed his glance, 'You have not seen them before?'

'I _have_ seen them,' The child answered, 'But .. I didn't know what they were.'

The constable nodded, accepting his answer. 'Well, perhaps now is not the time.'

'Please?' The boy pleaded, his lips quivering. Ichabod shook his head with a smile, lowering himself on one knee to the boy's level and resting a hand on his narrow shoulder.

'One day when I pass they shall be yours, then you shall know what they are,' He kept a smile, knowing he was teasing the curious boy. With a final pat, he rose up. The child accepted his answer reluctantly, nodding once to his father. 'Alright,'

'Good,' Ichabod said, beginning to guide the boy from the room. 'Your mother is calling us. Come, Frederick.'

* * *

**THE END.**

* * *


	27. Author's notes and questions

**AUTHOR'S NOTES AND QUESTIONS.**

* * *

A big thanks to anyone that read this all the way through, and an even bigger thanks to those who left me some feedback via reviews. I like to know what people think, whether it be good or bad. I love the whole idea of the AbxIch pairing but never thought to act on writing a fic, so a shout out to Randi who prompted me to write all 26 chapters. This fic was for her, and every From Hell and Sleepy Hollow fan out there.

Here are some questions I thought would come up **(SPOILERS BELOW)**

* * *

**1. What happened to Dr. Ferral after Abberline shot him in the Bethlam corridor?**

You guys can come to your own assumptions there. He was left with a bleeding wound and barking orders to the guards left right and centre.

**2. What are these sentences of poetry Godley sometimes refers to?**

In the movie, Godley sometimes used quotes from Shakespeare in his sentences. I wanted to use that because that was a part of his character.

**3. What happened to Mary's friends? Liz Stride, Kate Eddowes?**

They were all murdered by the Ripper.

**4. Where did Netley vanish to after the shooting?**

He disappeared into the streets and assumably will start himself a new life.

**5. I don't understand the fiasco at the Ball. What happened to Ichabod and why did Abberline feel guilty for it?**

Before the Ball, Ichabod went to see if Abberline needed a lift and caught him while he was smoking a cigerette full of opium. He inhaled the fumes and later collapsed. When Gull told Abberline it had been an opium overdose, he assumes it was his fault because of the opium laced smoke he had breathed. Later, it was revealed that the drink Netley had given Ichabod was poisoned and it was not Abberlne's fault.

**6. Why kill Abberline?**

He died in the movie, and I wanted to stay true to it. Plus, he stated in his letter to Ichabod that he would rather die then live out the rest of his life a ghost, because he would go mad.

**7. Will Mary ever find out that Abberline is never coming to join her in Ireland with Alice?**

No, she doesn't know about him and Ichabod or that Abberline killed himself. She will simply wait for him none the wiser.

**8. Why did Ichabod refer to his son as, 'Frederick'?**

Because he _named_ him Frederick as a sort of memorium to the Inspector.

**Thanks for reading everyone.**

* * *

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